


Missing Pieces

by clgfanfic



Category: Swift Justice, Without a Trace
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI works with Max Swift and Randall Patterson, and both sets of partners learn a little about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as a standalone novella, Missing Pieces under the pen name Dani Martin. Co-written with Paige Aaron.

**3:17 a.m.**

          Hands reached out of the darkness; gentle hands, tender hands, hands that lightly caressed his body, swelling his desire and making him weak with need.  He moaned softly and shifted under the covers, trying to turn into the touch, but whenever he did, the hands withdrew, leaving him feeling bereft and alone.

He ceased his struggle, lying motionless, waiting and willing the erotic touch to continue.  And the hands did return, feather-light touches brushing over his right nipple.  He sucked in a sharp breath, continuing to hold perfectly still and waiting to see what would happen next.

He didn't have long to wait.

Tortuously soft touches rained down upon his body, making him jerk and twist, the space under the covers suddenly becoming too hot to bear.  He pushed them off with his feet, writhing on the mattress as the sensations continued to assail him.

Hands rubbed up his legs, fingers trailed across his chest, teasing his nipples.  He arched his back, trying to press into the light caress, wanting more, _needing_ more, but the fingers were always gone, denying him the contact he longed for.

Going still once more, he waited, panting, trying hard not let his frustration show in a low moan.  He wanted the hands to turn hard, rough.  He wanted them to hold him down, ravage him, explode the climax that thrummed in his groin, trapped and building in a painful swell of passionate need.

Then, a hand splayed across his lower belly, moving down, moving hard.

          He gasped and forced his eyes open only to discover he couldn't see anything, the darkness surrounding them too deep to penetrate.  He sucked in another sharp breath, the fingers closing around his aching member.  But the hand wasn't moving; he needed it to move – now!

          He moaned, the sound so clearly beseeching that it embarrassed him.  The fingers were gone again.  He whimpered, tears welling in his closed eyes.  Then lips pressed lightly against his, a warm tongue licking across them.  He groaned again, hope returning with an overpowering rush.

          But that hope was short-lived.  The lips were killing him, he was certain of it.  They suckled one nipple and then the other, nipped at his belly, then closed around the head of his cock.

He sobbed his relief and thought for a moment that he might explode.  He wanted to, he wanted to end the torture, the ravenous need that clawed away inside of him, but the hands, the lips, both still refused to liberate him.

          Reaching out, he tried desperately to find his phantom lover, but there was no one there.  "Please," he begged in a thick, choking whisper.

          Hands and lips returned, finally bestowing upon him the shuddering ecstasy of orgasm.  And he cried out, loudly, reveling in the feel of his warm seed, flowing onto his belly.  His eyes cracked open, just catching the ghost of a smile in the darkness, and clear, beautiful azure eyes staring down at him.

          "Martin," he breathed, reaching out for the man.

          But he was gone and Danny jerked awake, semen pasting the sheet to his abdomen.  He groaned his frustration.  It had happened _again!_

          Muttering, he used the sheet to wipe himself dry, then pushed it down to the foot of his bed and pulled the blankets back over him, snuggling into the warmth.

          What the hell was wrong with him?  When had he allowed himself to become obsessed with Martin Fitzgerald?

          He groaned, rolling his head from side to side and silently berating himself for such stupidity.  He hadn't even _liked_ the man when Martin had joined the unit.  But it had quickly become clear that Martin Fitzgerald wasn't the ladder-climber he'd thought he was.  Martin cared about the victims, genuinely wanted to help them, and their time together in San Diego had finally allowed him to set aside his animosity and begin a real friendship with the man.

          Then he'd seen Martin's spine when Fitz had chewed his ass over the "interview" with Radio.  But he'd been glad of it at the time.  It had proved to him that Fitzgerald had ethics, his own lines, and that had only increased his respect for the man.

And Martin was willing to admit his own mistakes, too, Danny thought, remembering their conversations after the Samir shooting.  He hadn't actually expected Martin to talk to him about it, but he had, once he was over the initial shock.  And the level of trust that had demonstrated had gone a long way to further their friendship.

Martin had returned the favor when he had recognized the pain in Danny's eyes when he'd come in to work after the night he'd spilled his guts to Clare.  They had talked that evening, after work, and he'd actually told Martin the same story he'd told the teen.  It surprised him, but he was glad he'd done it.

The level of honest sympathy and concern he had seen in Martin's eyes had surprised him, and it made it easier to call Martin a friend.  But he hadn't expected it to be more than friendship, and at that a friendship born out of their daily contact at work and a shared respect for one another.

But then Jack had called him into work while he'd been at Starbucks with Martin.  Malone had teased him, asking him if he'd been on a "date."  He'd gone along, more than willing to pad his reputation, but the word had stuck with him, haunted him.

 _Had_ it been a date?

No, probably not, but it _was_ one of the first times they had gotten together on a shared day off.  And that innocent question had planted the seed that had eventually grown into the dreams that were now haunting him several times a week.

Damn Jack anyway.

Still, the exchange had encouraged him to push his friendship with Martin to another level and, in the process, he'd discovered Martin had a rather dry sense of humor.  It wasn't something he let show at work, but when they were out together it made occasional appearances, more and more often, as Martin had discovered Danny appreciated his wit.

So, if he were asked, he'd have to say that their friendship had grown stronger over the past several months, which probably explained the worry he had seen in Fitzgerald's eyes when he'd nearly gotten shot trying to find that missing boxer.

That expression of concern had triggered something in Danny, some damn fantasy that maybe, just maybe, Martin might actually care about him.  Care _deeply_ about him.  That Martin might feel like something more than just a friend.  And that, he knew, was when the goddamn dreams had started.

The first one had left him shaking with fear and disgust.  He hadn't thought about being with another man like that since he'd experimented a few times as a teenager, and then he'd only wanted to get off, nothing more.  It wasn't like he'd been attracted to the other kids he'd jerked off with.  Or at least that was what he had always told himself.  Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that the first dreams, and his reactions to them, had been the reason he'd so easily assumed the worst of Martin when the OPR had come after them – after Jack, really.  It had been far easier to think that his first impressions of Fitzgerald had been accurate, and the rest a lie, than to admit that he was falling for another man.  A _man,_ for God's sake!

          But he couldn't keep up the front, not when what was really happening became clear to him, and to the others.  So he'd made a clumsy apology and Martin, God bless him, had accepted it with far greater grace than he had showed Fitzgerald, which only increased his respect for the man, and heightened his desire.

Hell, these days he was craving Martin more than he did a drink, and that was saying something.  But he just couldn't imagine Martin ever returning his feelings.  Not even after what had happened to Sam.

Her getting shot like that had driven home to him just how precious life was, how short it could be – especially when you were in a job that put you at risk like theirs did.  Hell, 9-11 should have done that, but he hadn't known Fitzgerald then.

But he knew the man now, and he called him a friend, and he was having repeating erotic dreams about him…

          Man, he had to be fucking nuts!

          Martin Fitzgerald was a straight arrow – the key word here being "straight."  Hell, he was almost _square!_

Besides, he'd seen the way Martin looked at Sam – with that house-in-the-suburbs, white-picket-fence and a-couple-of-kids longing.  He couldn't offer the man _any_ of those things.

Nope, all he could offer were clandestine rendezvous, hidden affections and danger.  He was an _idiot_ if he really thought Martin would ever get involved with him, with any man, especially one he worked with.

And – when he really took the time to stop and think about it – that was probably for the best.  He'd seen how Sam's and Jack's affair had torn them both up, and he wasn't sure it would be worth it to put himself into a relationship that could, potentially, be equally problematic and painful if things came to a bad end.

          But all of that did absolutely nothing to stop the blasted dreams.  And the dreams were driving him crazy.

It was as if his feelings were slowly but steadily slipping out of his control, and that scared the hell out of him.  He knew all too well what that was like, knew if he wasn't careful his desire for Martin would become an addiction just like his alcoholism.  And he knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't strong enough to hold both at bay.  He just wasn't _that_ strong.

          But how the hell did he turn off his feelings?  How did he un-love someone?

          _Oh shit_.

Since when had it become _love?_   It couldn't be _love_.

It wasn't.

He wouldn't allow it to be love.  Lust, yes.  Obsession… fine.  Sexual addiction… maybe.  But not love.

 _Shit_ …

He _had_ to put some distance between himself and Martin, somehow.

          _Shit_ …

He sighed heavily.  It was too late, too damn late.

He was in fucking love with a fucking straight man.  And all he wanted to do was fuck the man right through the floor – after Martin had fucked his brains out.

He was a fucking idiot!

          He groaned and rolled over, forcing himself to go back to sleep and silently praying that the fucking dreams didn't return.

          _Fuck…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**7:25 a.m.**

 

Lieutenant Randall Patterson finished off the last of his coffee and glanced over to where his partner sat, diligently typing at his computer keyboard.

The two of them had been living together for six years now and Mac Swift's ability to focus exclusively on something until it was finished still amazed Randall at times.

          "Mac," he called and, when that elicited no response, Patterson tossed a towel at the man, yelling, "Mac!"

          Picking up on the agitation in Randall's voice, their one-year old Husky, Kema, chimed in with her own bid for attention – a long, yodeling howl that ended on a frustrated chuffel.

          "Hmm?"  Swift blinked several times and looked up at his partner as he brushed the dishtowel off his shoulder.  "Did you say something, Rand?"

          Randall chuckled and shook his head, amused in spite of himself.  "I asked if you wanted to meet me for lunch.  You need to get out of here for a while, man, take a break.  You been cooped up here for _days_.  Next thing you know, you'll be looking like one of the extras from _Night of the Living Dead_."

          Catching the concerned undertone underlying the jibe, Mac pushed back from the computer and stood.  He walked over to Randall and gave him a kiss.  "Feeling neglected?" he teased, already knowing the reaction he would get.

          "No, man, that's not it!"  Seeing Swift's disbelieving look, Randall added, "All right, yeah, maybe a little.  But you said yourself that you're all but done with this one, right?  So let's go celebrate, man.  It's gonna be a beautiful day out there.  I'll call Julio and reserve a table out on the terrace.  He's been asking about you lately, you know; asked if you'd decided to become a hermit."

          Julio Guerrara owned a small but chic bistro a few blocks from the 27th Precinct.  The man and Mac's late father had been good friends, and after Mike Swift's death, Julio had made it a point to stay in touch with Mac and Randall.

          "That sounds great.  I guess I haven't seen Julio in a while, huh?" Mac asked, not even trying to pretend he wasn't interested.  It _had_ been too long since he'd gotten out of the loft.  This latest computer game had given him a lot more trouble than he'd expected at first, and he was running a lot closer to the deadline than he liked, or was usual for him.  But he only had to clean up a little more code this morning, and then he could send it off to LogiCool, the software company he'd contracted with for the finished product.

          "All right!"  Grinning, Patterson leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against his partner's lips.  "I'll call you later to set up the time, okay?  Right now I've gotta get to work or the Captain's gonna chew my ass."

          "She's lucky I'm not the jealous type then," Mac quipped, returning to his computer.

          Randall chuckled as he walked out the door, leaving Mac to finish his game.  Captain Jamie Hector didn't take much from anyone.  He knew he was much more easy-going than his partner, and had often wondered how Mac would have fared under her command.  But, upon reflection, he knew the captain probably would have had Mac's number in about thirty seconds, and she would have put him in his place in even less time than that.

Mac didn't have a problem with women in positions of authority and, Randall guessed, he would've respected her and toed the line – most of the time, or at least as much as he had for Captain Lucinder.

          As he rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Randall couldn't help wondering if his partner missed police work.  Mac rarely mentioned his time as a cop any more, but then seven years had passed since Swift had taken the "suggestion" that he resign rather than be prosecuted – and almost certainly convicted – on a murder charge.

          At the time, Randall couldn't understand how Swift would throw away his career for a woman, but he had finally come to realize that Mac had fallen in love with Annie Peterson in the short time they'd had together.  The rage that had consumed Swift after she had been murdered had ended up being directed at the man who had cold-bloodedly taken her life.

          Now, though, it all made sense.  Randall still had his own nightmares about 9-11 and his certainty that Swift had died in the attacks.  That certainty had only exploded into sharp shards of grief when Randall had been notified of the death of Michael Swift, Mac's father, and a sergeant at the 27th Precinct where Randall also worked.

          When word had finally reached him that Mac was safe and recovering from a concussion and some nasty cuts and bruises, a floodgate of emotions had been released, nearly dropping Patterson to the floor.  He took Mac's motorcycle and rode as fast as possible to the aid shelter where Mac lay recovering.

          After their lives had eventually recovered some sense of normalcy – such as it was in the City in the months following 9-11 – they had agreed that they wanted something more definitive and permanent than just living together.  So they took a two-week vacation and drove to Vermont.

It hadn't taken them long to find what they needed; more and more same-sex couples were making the same journey.

The civil union ceremony had been quick and informal, but to them it cemented their relationship as strongly as the exchange of any marriage vows could have.

          Mac had been less hasty about taking dangerous jobs after their return to New York.  Not that he got entirely out of the private investigator business, or that he turned aside dangerous jobs, but he did get more selective, and more careful.

          And he began to focus more and more on building computer games, and even tried his hand at other kinds of software programs.  With the royalties still rolling in from his previous efforts, Mac didn't really need to work, but he wasn't exactly the kind of man who could sit and let life happen around him.

          Mac's change in focus only partially eased Randall's mind at first.  He knew Mike's death weighed heavily in Mac's decision and he'd worried that his partner might come to resent his more sedate lifestyle.  But as time went on Randall realized that it was something Mac had wanted, had chosen, for both of their sakes.

          Driving toward the precinct, Patterson shook off the memories and looked around.  It was going to be another typical fall day in New York – the bright sunshine raining down from a cloudless blue sky just beginning to burn off the early morning chill.  9-11 had started off that way…

He frowned.  The second anniversary of the attacks was on Thursday.

He and Mac had attended one of the law enforcement memorials last year, but they hadn't talked about whether they were going to commemorate the anniversary in any fashion this year.  With a mental shrug, Randall decided to ask his partner about it when they met for lunch.

Might do Mac good if they did do something…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5:15 a.m. (earlier that same morning)**

 

          The alarm jerked Danny out of a dreamless sleep and he rose on autopilot, dressing, changing, and remaking his bed with clean sheets without much conscious thought.

He headed out the door just before six, munching on the first of his two power bars.

A half-hour later he was at the gym.

          "Morning," Martin greeted him when Danny walked in, blue eyes narrowing slightly.  "Looks like you had a… an interesting night."

          _Oh, you could say that_ , Danny thought as he flashed the man a knowing grin, but it didn't have his usual dynamism behind it.  "My nights are almost always interesting, m' man," he quipped.

          Martin shook his head, trying to suppress a smile.  "So, what was her name?"

          Danny wagged his eyebrows.  "A gentleman never tells," was his reply as they walked over to the elliptical running machines, each of them climbing on to one.

          Martin just shook his head as they began their warm-up, both of them watching the early morning news that was playing on the big screen television suspended from the ceiling.  After forty minutes they moved on to the weight room.

          As they progressed though what had become their usual workout, Danny caught himself watching Martin in a way he never had before.  He was suddenly captivated by the way the man's muscles moved in his arms and shoulders… the tight, almost heart-shaped contour of his ass in those snug-fitting cotton shorts… the muscular legs, strong-looking, but not bulky.

No, nothing about Fitzgerald was bulky.  Martin was sleek, powerful, well-proportioned, but definitely _not_ bulky.

          Danny wished they didn't have to wear suits to work.  He would like to see some of that muscle around the office.  Hell, Sam got away with wearing tank-tops, but not them.  It just wasn't fair.

          He jerked, realizing what he'd been thinking.  _Shit_.  Was he a _complete_ idiot?  Was he _trying_ to tip his hand?  Christ!

It was getting worse than he'd expected.  But the images from his dreams kept haunting him, kept playing through the back of his mind as they made their way through their workout.

          And he kept thinking about the man's body, kept finding himself staring at Fitzgerald's hands, wondering what they would really feel like wrapped around his–

          "…Hey, earth to Taylor.  Danny, you all right?"

          "Huh?"  He gulped, his eyes rounding slightly with fear and surprise.  Had he been staring just now?

          "I said," Martin intoned, "do you want to stop and get something to eat on the way in to the office?"

          "Uh, yeah, sure," he replied.  "Sure."

          "You're sta– distracted this morning," Martin added casually.  "Miss Interesting someone serious?"

          "They're all serious…" Danny replied, a rakish look on his face.  "…For about a week."

          Martin shook his head and snorted softly.  "One of these days you're going to fall, my man, and fall hard."

          _Oh, if you only knew_.  "Hey, it's not the fall that'll kill ya," he countered, "it's the sudden stop at the bottom."

          Another shake of his head and Fitzgerald said, "We better get a shower if we're going to stop and eat."

          "Yeah," Danny agreed, his hand sweeping out in a gallant gesture to let Martin go first.  _Why the hell did I do that?_ he asked himself.  But he knew the reason.  It was so he could get one last look at that beautiful ass walking away from him.

          He shook his head, knowing he was, indeed, falling, and when he finally hit the bottom it was going to hurt, hurt like hell, unless he could find a way to cushion the fall.  Or stop it all together.

          Maybe that woman he'd met at the bookstore the other day.  She'd had some real assets going for her.

          _Assets_ …  His attention returned to the man in front of him.  _Ass_ … _beautiful tight little ass…_

          He groaned and Martin shot him a look over his shoulder.

          Danny just shook his head.  "Just spotted a blonde on the–"

          "Too much information," Fitzgerald growled, the sound of his slightly raspy voice sending shivers straight into Danny's groan.

          _Shit_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Noon**

 

          Hearing the alarm go off on the kitchen radio, Mac pushed up out of his chair and walked over to shut it off.  The annoying device had been Randall's idea, and he had installed it a few years back.  He set it so Mac would be reminded to take a break and eat some lunch.  Sometimes Mac could ignore it, but not today.  Today, he had a very important lunch date with his partner.

          Half an hour later, Mac had showered and changed.  His grumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn't had breakfast that morning and he grinned.  Good thing, too.  That would leave more room for Julio's outstanding cooking.

With a smile, Mac grabbed his keys and headed for the door.  Kema immediately whined and followed him after him.

He turned and squatted down to pet the dog.  "C'mon, girl, it's okay, I'm just heading out to get some lunch.  Go lay down on your bed.  I won't be gone too long, and then we'll go for a walk, okay?"

          Waving her tail enthusiastically at the word "walk," the Husky barked once, then howled, deciding that she would prefer it if they took that walk right _now_.

Mac sighed.  "Okay, look, I'll give you a cookie now and we'll take the walk when I get back, okay?"

She howled and danced, her toenails clicking on the hardwood floor as she followed him back to the kitchen.  Her tail continued to wave as she waited for him to take down the box and fish out three of the treats, which he walked over and dropped onto her large, comfortable bed.

She trotted over, hopped on, then turned around three times and lay down, ignoring him as he left, much more interested in the treats than the fact he was leaving.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Danny sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.  It felt like he had been sitting in front of his computer all day, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours.  Still, no matter how long it had been, he had done everything he could to check the money trail Jack asked him to track down.  And just in time, too.  Another ten minutes and he was sure he'd need to be fitted for glasses thanks to the eye strain.

His stomach growled loudly and he checked the clock – 12:15; lunchtime.

          He glanced over at Martin, wanting to ask the man to go with him for a bite to eat, but he had already pushed his luck as far as he dared today.

God, had Fitz actually caught him staring at his ass at the gym this morning?  He prayed the man hadn't, or at least that Martin hadn't realized what Danny had been doing.  He hadn't said anything about it, so he was probably clueless.

He glanced over at Vivian and asked, "Any plans for lunch?"

          She glanced his way and smiled slyly.  "As a matter of fact, yes, I do have plans for lunch today…  I'm meeting my son."

          "Reggie?" Danny asked her.

"That _is_ my only child," she replied, giving him a look he was sure she used regularly on the boy.

"I know; lucky kid."

          She grinned, letting him slip back into her good graces.  "He and his classmates are on a field trip today and I'm close by for a change, so…"

"Go.  Enjoy," Danny told her, shooing her off.

          "I plan to," she said, shutting down her computer and then standing to pull on her jacket.  She picked up her purse and headed out with a small wave.

          Danny grinned and swung around to look at Sam, but before he could ask her, she said, "I have a date, too.  With a new physical therapist," she added with a grimace as she pushed slowly to her feet, still careful about how much weight she put on her healing leg.  "He'll probably be another graduate of the De Sade School of Physical Therapy."

          Danny winced in sympathy and nodded.  "Uh, yeah, I think they all are.  Union rule or something."

"Thanks," she said drolly.

"Have a good time?"

          She shot him a nasty look, then sighed heavily and headed out, muttering under her breath the whole way.

          He chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair.  Well, that just left Martin and Jack, and he hadn't seen his boss since earlier in the morning.  So, taking a deep breath, he spun around and addressed Martin, who was staring intently at his computer screen, apparently oblivious to all that had passed between his officemates.

          "Hey, Martin, what are you doing for lunch?"

          "Huh?"  Fitzgerald swung around to look at Danny, his expression blank.

          Danny grinned and shook his head.  "Man, you ever fall _into_ that screen?"

          Martin looked appropriately affronted.  "What?"

          "Lunch," Danny articulated slowly and clearly.  "You know, the meal you're supposed to eat in the middle of the day?  The one between breakfast and dinner.  You have any plans for lunch?"

          "Uh, no…" Martin replied somewhat suspiciously.  Then he glanced at the clock and his eyes widened.  "It is really _that_ late?"

          "It is.  Hey, listen, I'm gonna go try a new Cuban place I heard about; you want to join me?"

          The blue eyes rounded with surprise and Martin glanced around at the empty office.  Not seeing either Vivian or Sam, he realized that Danny must actually be asking _him_.  Surely he had tried the others first, but they must have turned him down.

"Uh, yeah, sure, sounds good," Martin finally managed.

          Danny felt a small tingle take up residence in his groin and knew that he was taking the first step out onto a new tightrope – one that was way, _way_ up there.  And he could feel the winds beginning to pick up, too.  But there was nothing he could do about that now.  He had asked, and Fitzgerald had said yes.

 _Goddamn it_.  He was being drawn to Martin and he couldn't fight it, even though he knew he should – and with everything he had.

          _Fuck_ , he thought, _I need a drink_.  But he couldn't have that.  And he couldn't have Martin Fitzgerald either.

 _Fuck_ …

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Randall frowned as he checked his watch.  1:35 p.m.  He had told Mac to meet him here at one o'clock, and the man was rarely late – it made for a bad business reputation.  Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, the detective called the loft.

No answer.

And he had no luck with Mac's cell phone, either.

          An unpleasant feeling coiled through the police lieutenant's guts.  If Mac was having a problem, he would have called… unless there had been an accident?

          He repeated the phone calls with no success, then called the precinct on the off-chance that Mac had left word for him there.

Nothing.

          Julio walked over, a cheerful smile softening his craggy features.  "Randall, is that no-good partner of yours standing you up?"

          "It's starting to look that way," Patterson answered, putting away his phone.

          The bistro owner gestured toward the menu.  "Would you like to order for him?"

          "No, sorry, Julio."  Pulling the napkin from his lap, Randall set it on the table and stood.  "Something's come up.  We're going to have to take a rain check."

          The older man nodded sadly.  "Just see that it doesn't take you months to collect!" he called as the detective reached the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5:35 p.m.**

**5 hours missing**

 

          "There he is," Supervisory Agent Jack Malone said as he pointed to a tall black man standing on the sidewalk next to a dark, late-90s Land Rover.  The man was wearing a stylish black suit with a green turtleneck, and his long hair was worn in dreadlocks.

          Martin nodded and pulled their sedan into the nearest parking space with the ease of long practice.

          The man approached them as they exited the car and held out his hand to Malone as soon as the older agent had shut the passenger side door.

"Good to see you again, Jack.  I wish it was under different circumstances," he said, his relief at seeing Malone clearly evident in his voice and in his eyes.

          "I agree," Jack replied, the sympathy in his tone surprising Martin a little.  Malone gestured to Fitzgerald.  "This is Special Agent Martin Fitzgerald."

As Martin shook Patterson's hand, Jack glanced around at the burned out buildings surrounding them and frowned.  Then, turning back to the lieutenant, he said, "Start from the beginning.  Tell me what we're dealing with here."

          Randall scrubbed his hand over his face and sucked in a heavy breath before he began.  "Mac and I were supposed to meet for lunch at one, at Julio's."

          Martin jotted the information down in his notebook, asking him, "That the bistro over on Spring Street?"

          "Yeah, that's the one.  It's a usual spot for us," Patterson replied.  "Mac works out of our loft, so I called him around eleven to let him know where and when.  I got to the restaurant a little late, expecting to get bawled out, but no Mac.  When he didn't show by one-thirty, I got worried."

          "I take it he's not usually late," Jack commented.

          "Not without a damn good reason," Patterson replied and Martin's eyes rounded slightly at the familiarity that commented suggested.  The police detective added, "Mac's a private investigator and he writes computer code, so time's money, you know?  Besides, with me you never know when the call's gonna come, interrupt a meal, whatever, so he's on time."

"What did you do?" Malone asked him.

Randall sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck through the material of the turtleneck.  Tension was tying his muscles into knots.  "I called the loft, tried his cell phone, checked with the precinct for any messages.  Nothing.  I kept trying on the way home, but still no answer anywhere."

"Any messages?" Jack queried.

"No.  When I got to the loft–"  Patterson broke off, struggling for words.

          "Randall, it's, uh, fairly obvious that Swift is more than just your roommate.  Am I right?" Jack asked discreetly.

Martin blinked, surprised.  He never would have pegged Patterson as gay, but it sure as hell explained what it was he had been picking up on.  And it definitely put a different spin on the case.

          "If you're politely asking me if Mac's my lover, the answer's yeah, he is," Randall confirmed, keeping his tone even.  "We've been together for six years now.  In February of '02 we went up to Vermont for a civil union ceremony."

          "Are you out on the job?" Jack questioned him.

          Patterson nodded, not sure what the federal agent was getting at.  "Yeah, I am.  We got tired of hiding and agreed it'd be better to just be open about it.  Cuts down the risk of blackmail, too, y'know?"

          "That's ballsy," Martin noted sincerely.  "How did everyone react?"

          Patterson shrugged.  "Mac and I have always been close, so most people weren't all that surprised, I guess.  I'd already proved I could do the job…"  At Fitzgerald's questioning expression he added, "Look, sure, there were some comments at first, but it's not an issue any more.  My promotion came _after_ I'd come out, and no one's given me any grief in a long, long time.  Mac, either."

          "We might need to check into that further," Jack cautioned him and Randall nodded.  "Okay, when you got back to the loft this afternoon, did you find anything out of place?"

          A part of Martin's attention wandered briefly as he continued to take notes, trying to recall the few openly gay people he knew and compare them with Lieutenant Randall Patterson.  It wasn't an easy match.  Patterson seemed so… _normal?_

Martin cringed slightly at the word that immediately sprang to mind, but it was the right one.  The detective _did_ seem perfectly "normal."  _Perfectly straight_ , he silently corrected himself.

 _Just like Danny_ , a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered.

Martin jerked his full attention back to what Patterson was saying.

          "…so I started calling hospitals and morgues.  Nothing.  Finally, I called in an APB and a unit spotted the Land Rover about two hours later.  I drove right over to confirm that it was Mac's, but I haven't touched it, and no one else has either."

          Jack nodded.  The FBI's forensics unit was already at work on the vehicle.  "Is there some reason he'd be in this neighborhood?  Anyone you know live around here?" he asked Patterson.

          "No, no one.  We don't know anyone within ten or twelve blocks of here.  And there are no businesses Mac would come down here to visit either."  Randall shook his head.  "It's a slum, man, the only folks here are ones who can't afford better, the homeless, or drug dealers."

          "You mentioned your partner's also a private investigator."  Martin checked his notes to confirm what he already knew.  "Any chance he got a call and came down here for a case?"

          "No."

          "You sound awfully sure of that," Jack commented.  "Care to explain why?"

          Both agents saw Randall rein in his temper.  The lieutenant knew they were just doing their job, but Martin couldn't help but wonder if he could be as cool if it were Danny who had gone missing, and they weren't even dating.

Christ, what the hell was he thinking?

"Look, Mac's got a contract with LogiCool, a software company," Randall explained.  "He comes up with prototype computer games for them.  For the past six weeks he's been working on his latest project.  He wouldn't take a case until he was done.  It's too hard to do both.  The deadline's just too close for him to start a case.  And even if he had, I'd know about it.  It'd have to be pretty damned important for him to blow a gig he's been working this hard on, for this long.  He would've called me if something like that had come up."

          "Does he ever take new cases without calling you?" Malone asked the man.

          "Yeah, sometimes, but it wouldn't happen like that right now.  Look, I know it's thin, Jack, but I also know Mac.  He didn't show, he didn't call, and we found the Land Rover sitting in the middle of a ghetto.  I'm telling you, something's happened to him."

          Jack sighed softly and nodded.  "Your captain seems to agree with you.  We'll let forensics do their work, see what turns up."

          Patterson nodded.

          "Can you tell me the kind of cases Swift usually works on?"

          While Randall gave Jack a quick rundown on Swift's last few cases, Martin stood back and watched the man.  It was so easy to read the concern, hell, the near panic in the detective's body language.  The kind of relationship that emotion hinted at was a complete mystery to Martin.  He sighed softly to himself.  Not that he necessarily wanted it to be that way, but it was the reality he lived.

          Randall Patterson might be gay, but Danny Taylor wasn't, and the sooner he stopped trying to imagine himself and Danny in the same kind of relationship Patterson and Swift obviously shared, the better off he would be.  But he just wasn't sure he could pull it off.

Especially not after days like today.  The man was a damn tease, and he didn't even know it.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**6:10 p.m.**

 

Danny turned the corner into the common room, heading straight to the collection of desks that marked out the space for the Missing Person's Unit.

Vivian Johnson was seated at her desk, just finishing a phone call.  She hung up and swung around in her chair just as he reached her.

          "Okay, I've got the information," he announced.

Viv stood and the two agents headed for the elevators and the parking garage.  "Michael Swift, Junior, known to most people as Mac," Danny said from memory as they walked.  "Thirty-eight years old.  Entered the Navy right out of high school – electronics specialist – but transferred to the SEALs after four years."

          "SEALs?" Viv echoed as they reached the elevators and stepped inside when the first one opened.  "He wouldn't be easy to blindside then.  Might be someone he knows."

Danny nodded.  "Crossed my mind, too.  He stayed in the Teams four more years, then left the service with a honorable discharge."

          "Reason?"

          "Medical," Danny said.  "The details, however, are classified."  He grinned and wagged his eyebrows.

          Viv rolled her eyes and shook her head.

          "Man's smart, too," Danny added.  "He got a bachelor's degree in computer science while he was in the service, then wrote some firewall software that the Navy bought.  While he was in the SEALs he sold a video game prototype that netted him over _six_ - _figures_ ," he said as they reached their car and climbed in.

          Vivian glanced across at Danny and asked, "Maybe that's the _real_ reason he got out."

          "Maybe," Danny said, handing her the file he had been carrying.  "His father was a beat cop at the 27th, mother died when he was fourteen.  When Swift left the Navy, he joined the NYPD and was also assigned to the 27th."

          "Cozy," Viv commented.

          "After eighteen months on the beat, he was promoted to detective and transferred to Homicide.  He worked there almost five years, then resigned and got his PI license.  His record is… well, let's just call it interesting.  IA investigated him on several occasions."

          "He was a dirty cop?"

          "I don't think so.  He and Randall Patterson were a little unorthodox, but they racked up an impressive arrest record.  Hey, and get this, Swift and Patterson registered as domestic partners shortly after 9-11."  He glanced over at her in time to see her shoot him a questioning look.

          "They were lovers as well as partners?" Viv questioned.

          "Looks that way," Danny replied and grinned.  "And, Patterson was Michael Swift's – that's Mac Swift's biological father – foster son.  He moved in with Mike and Mac when he was fifteen."

          "The mother was deceased by then, right?" Vin asked him.

          "Yeah, she died the year before Patterson came to live with them."

          "So, after high school Mac went into the Navy, and Patterson joined the police force?"

          "Patterson after four years in college," Danny corrected.  "He's spent his entire career at the 27th.  He's currently the Lieutenant in Homicide.  There's nothing in his record to suggest that he's dirty."

          "Has the father been notified?"

          "Michael Swift was killed on 9-11."

          Viv shook her head sadly and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive.  As Danny negotiated the traffic, she read through the file, familiarizing herself with both men.  She closed the cover a few minutes before Danny pulled up alongside Jack's car and parked.  They climbed out and walked over to where Malone stood with Randall Patterson.

          "Randall," Jack said as Danny and Vivian walked up to join them, "Special Agents Vivian Johnson and Danny Taylor."

          Patterson nodded to the two agents, but didn't say anything.

          "I want you two to canvass the area, see if there were any witnesses," Jack instructed.

          The pair glanced around at the run down area, knowing that it was highly unlikely that they would find anyone, or get them to admit it if they had seen something, but it was something they knew they had to do.

          "Anything?" Danny asked Malone.

          Jack shook his head.  "I'm hoping forensics turns up something useful."

Danny shot a look at Patterson, noting the way the police lieutenant fidgeted as he waited, then looked back to Jack.  "Any chance that Swift is, uh, having an affair?" he softly asked the older agent.

          Patterson turned sharply, catching the question anyway.  "No way, man, that's a blind alley."

          Jack raised his hand in a placating gesture.  "Randall, you know we have to look into every possibility.  It's a valid question."

          "Look, everything's fine with us!  Someone took him.  He wouldn't just walk away like this," the cop snapped.

          Danny nodded.  "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, it's just–"

          "Something you had to ask.  Yeah, I know."  Patterson waved the apology aside, his anger already dissipating.  Rubbing his hands over his face, he took a steadying breath.  "For what it's worth, I'd be asking the same question."

          Taylor nodded, giving the man a sympathetic look.  He and Vivian turned, heading off to see if they could hunt down any witnesses.

Danny caught sight of Martin with the forensics techs and wished that the man had glanced his way.  Just catching sight of those blue eyes made his blood hum these days.

 _Oh, man, you are so pathetic_, he thought as he caught up with Vivian.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Randall," Jack called softly after Viv and Danny were gone.  He reached out and rested his hand on the detective's shoulder after he had walked over to join Malone.  "You and I need to sit down, go over everything Swift might be working on…"

          Patterson nodded absently, watching as the forensics team thoroughly combed over and through Mac's Rover.  They each had keys to each other's vehicles, and he had handed his set over to Jack a while back so the techs could get inside the Land Rover.

          Martin Fitzgerald was nearby, keeping an eye on the search and, no doubt, on him.  Randall knew that the agents were all just doing their jobs and, to be fair, they certainly didn't seem to be getting any satisfaction out of this.  But, unable to stand the waiting any longer, Patterson had begun pacing a short length of sidewalk.  At least it had given him something to do until Jack had called him over.  Now he paced away again, unable to stand still.

          And Martin, who had indeed been watching him, walked over to Jack.  "You said you worked with this guy before, right?"  At Jack's confirming nod, he continued, "Did you know he was gay?"

          "It never came up, until now," the older agent answered, looking unconcerned.  He glanced over at Fitzgerald and frowned.  "That going to be a problem for you?"

          "No," Martin said, shaking his head.  "No, absolutely not.  I was just… curious."

          "Why, because he doesn't fit the stereotype?"

          Before Martin could respond, the head of the forensics team walked up to join them, saying, "Hey, Jack, I've got something you'll want to see."  Paul Aaron held out a clear plastic bag to Malone.  "We found it stuck on the end on the turn signal control stick.  Damn near missed it, and it was right there in plain sight."

          Taking the bag, Malone studied the ring inside.  It was a double-band, one of gold and the other a white metal, probably platinum.  There were three smaller diamonds on either side of what Jack felt sure was a genuine emerald that was slightly larger.  Classy.

Looking up, Jack saw Randall approaching them.  He held up the bag, asking, "This Mac's ring?"

Jack and Martin watched the color drain from Patterson's face when he saw what was inside the evidence bag and, for a moment, they thought the lieutenant might be sick, but Randall managed to pull himself together and, reaching out, took the bag and inspected the ring through the clear plastic.  His gaze shifted from the ring he was holding to the matching one he wore on his left hand.  The only difference being that Randall's ring had a blue sapphire at its center.

Reluctantly handing the bag back to Malone, Randall nodded.  "Yeah, it's his.  We exchanged them at the commitment ceremony."

"Can you think of any reason he'd leave his ring behind?" Martin asked him, wondering in spite of the man's earlier words if Swift had left it to signify the end of the relationship.

          Randall turned to face the younger agent, studying him with intimidating intensity.  "Agent Fitzgerald, I know you're just doing your job, man, asking that question, but this is the last time I'm going to say this:  Mac and I are _not_ having any problems in our relationship.  He didn't run off with someone else; he didn't break up with me; he didn't find someone new."

          Deciding to shift the focus of the conversation, Jack asked, "Randall, if Mac didn't leave of his own free will, do you have any idea who might have taken him, or who might want him out of the way for some reason?"

          Patterson scrubbed his hand over his face.  "I've already asked them to pull all the records at the station – the cases Mac worked on where the perps have been released recently, or come back to town.  But there is one that I know about without looking."

          "Who would that be?" Malone asked him.

          "Andrew Coffin, former lieutenant with Internal Affairs."  Randall grimaced.  "He was convicted of aggravated assault against Mac four years ago.  He got out of prison six weeks ago.  The complete file's back at the loft if you want to have a look."

          "Fine," Malone said, nodding.  "That'll give us a chance to look things over there, make sure nothing was missed when you checked.  Martin, I'm going to ride with Lieutenant Patterson.  Follow us over."  Turning back to Randall, he added, "I'll have someone stop by the precinct to pick up the rest of the files."

          "Yeah, fine," Randall replied, his stomach twisting into knots.  If Mac had left his ring behind, there had to be a damn good reason.  Was it a warning?  A precaution?  _Damn it, Mac, where the hell are you, man?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Martin watched as Jack and Randall headed for the detective's car.  Patterson looked like he was walking a knife's edge, and who could blame him.  He shook his head.  If he and Danny–

          He killed the thought as soon as it began to surface.  There was no "he and Danny."  Never had been, and never would be.

          But if there was…?

Well, if there was, he knew he would be going crazy with worry by now.  He had to respect Patterson's professionalism.  And he felt for the man… and envied him as well.

          He started for the sedan, his gaze sweeping both sides of the street as he checked for Danny and Viv, but they were nowhere in sight.  Sighing softly, he slid in behind the wheel.  God, what he would give to have a relationship like Patterson and Swift shared.  And he knew he wanted to share one like it with Danny, but, like most things in life he wanted, Special Agent Danny Taylor was somewhere outside his grasp.

          Probably just as well, he decided, pulling away and quickly catching up with Patterson and Jack.  It wasn't like he had ever had much luck with relationships, and at least right now he felt like he had a friend, a good friend in Danny Taylor.

And a good friend was much better than an ex-lover.

But a life partner would be the best of all.

          _Dream on, Marty_ , he scoffed silently.  _Dream on…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:20 p.m.**

**8 hours missing**

 

Martin caught up to Jack and Randall as the two men waited for the elevator at Swift's loft.  He stood behind them, not wanting to interrupt any conversation that might have come up in the car on the ride over, but both men were silent as they waited for the elevator to arrive.  They stepped inside, all turning to face the front.  Martin watched the numbers light up on the ride to the top floor.

They exited the elevator car and Martin's eyebrows rose.  The loft was protected by some pretty elaborate security measures, the surveillance and passive alarms more high-tech than some he had seen in corporate offices.

          "Pardon me for asking, Lieutenant, but isn't all of this…"  Martin gestured at the alarm panel.  "…a little over the top?"

          "I used to think so, too," Randall admitted with a wry expression.  "But after the second time someone broke in after Mac left the force, I changed my mind.  Besides, Mac's an ex-SEAL, an ex-cop, and a private investigator living with a Homicide lieutenant.  You tell me, how much _is_ too much?"

          "Point taken," Martin replied with a slight smile.

          As Randall keyed in the multiple combinations, they could hear a dog barking on the other side of the door.  When the light turned green, Patterson opened the door and gestured the agents inside.

          Kema continued barking until Randall knelt down to reassure her.  "It's okay, girl, they're with me."  He watched as she went to the door and whined, nudging at her leash which was hanging on a peg near the door.  "Just a minute, girl, I'll take you down as soon as I can, okay?"

          She whined softly and waved her tail, then walked over to check out the two visitors.  Martin patted her head, and Jack did the same after she nudged his palm with her nose.

          Walking over to Mac's desk, Randall pulled open a drawer and withdrew a file.  Laying it on top of the desk, he said, "Why don't you guys take a look around?  I didn't see anything when I was here earlier, but that doesn't mean I didn't miss something – I was in a hurry.  I have to take Kema for a quick walk.  When I come back we can check Mac's computer."

          "Fine," Jack replied and gestured to the folder.  "That the file on Coffin?"

          Patterson nodded, then walked over and grabbed the leash.  Kema yodeled and danced as it was attached to her collar, and then they were gone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

While Patterson took his dog out for a short walk, Jack and Martin made a cursory examination of the spacious loft.

          "Nice place," Fitzgerald commented softly, clearly impressed.  "This doesn't come from a cop's salary, that's for sure."

          "Computer games must bring in the big bucks," Jack agreed, then headed for the stairs leading up to the loft's bedroom, which looked down on the rest of the open space below.  The closet he found was neat and orderly and he couldn't see any obvious signs that clothes were missing.

          "No signs of any struggle," Martin noted, still checking the downstairs area.  "If someone took him from here, he went willingly."

          "Check the answering machine."  After finishing in the bedroom, Jack rejoined his colleague downstairs.

          "Couple of messages from Patterson earlier this afternoon, but that's it," Martin reported.

          Malone frowned.  They had very little to go on unless the forensic team turned up something in trace evidence, or among the fingerprints on the Land Rover.

          Taking a seat at the computer workstation, Jack opened the file Randall had pulled out for him.  It documented Lieutenant Andrew Coffin's numerous investigations into Swift's cases and, later, into Patterson's as well.  He found the report on Swift's assault, which had eventually sent Coffin to prison, at the back.

Swift hadn't seen his attacker the night it had happened, but he had bitten the man's hand, resulting in blood evidence at the scene.  The DNA they had gotten from that blood sample had later been identified as Coffin's, and that was what had convicted the man.  At trial, the former IA lieutenant had vowed he would bring Swift down – one way or another.

          "Anything?" Martin asked his boss.

          Jack held the file out to the younger man.  "See for yourself.  Coffin sounds like a good possibility, but if he's got Swift, there's no telling what could be happening to the man."

          Fitzgerald had searched the workspace area for any messages Swift might have taken that they could use to track the man's whereabouts, but he'd found nothing.  Accepting the file from Jack, he quickly glanced through it.  A chill snaked down his spine as he read the report on the assault.  Jack was right, Coffin was definitely crazy, and clearly obsessed with Swift.

          Looking up from the report, he ventured, "This attack… it seems awfully personal, don't you think?  Like there's more to it than we're seeing here."

          "I was thinking the same thing," Malone agreed, silently pleased that Martin had picked up on the same thing he had.  "We'll see what Randall has to say about it when he comes back."

          Nodding at the computer, Martin asked, "You want me to see if I can find anything?"

          Malone stood and gestured toward the chair.  "Be my guest."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Martin had just turned on the computer when Randall returned to the loft.  He took off Kema's leash and the dog ran over to greet and sniff the two agents again.  Neither reacted and she sneezed and chuffed with disdain at their inattention before trotting over to her bed and settling down to watch the strangers.

          Randall noticed Martin working at the computer and grinned, truly amused.  "You'll never get anywhere with Stella.  Trust me."

          "Stella?" Martin asked him, exchanging glances with Jack.

          The detective shrugged, slightly embarrassed.  "It's a _Star Trek_ thing.  Forget it.  Anyway, the computer uses voice recognition software to grant access.  One of Mac's cases went bad several years ago and he went missing.  I knew the clue I needed was on his computer, but I couldn't get in.  Luckily, his dad could."  A shadow of pain flashed over Patterson's expression.  "When we got him back, Mac added my voice to the recognition system.  It won't let anyone else in – at least not to the important stuff."

          Martin and Jack watched as Randall approached and picked up the mike.  After he spoke his name, the computer's female voice said, "Identity confirmed.  Please proceed."

          "He's got better security than we do," Martin grumbled.

          "That's because he wrote the program.  It's a damn pain in the ass sometimes, though."  Patterson grimaced, remembering.  "Imagine trying to get in when you've got a cold."

          Martin chuckled softly as Randall opened Mac's client database.  There were no active cases listed for the past six weeks.  Slowly, the detective paged down through the data, allowing time for Jack and Martin to skim the pages with him.

          "There aren't many private investigators who would keep such detailed records," Jack noted, curious as to why Swift had.

          "Mac says it gives him peace of mind, knowing who's where," Randall explained.  Toggling to a new spreadsheet, he showed them the records Mac kept for his police cases as well.

          "It doesn't look like there's anyone here with enough motive or opportunity to pull something over on Swift," Fitzgerald said, frowning as he continued to study the records.

          "Yeah, I know," Randall replied.  "Mac also has a file on known associates, but there's nothing new there, either.  He keeps an eye on that, and he'd tell me if anything new had come up.  There've been no threats and no unusual calls; nothing strange recently at all.  The only thing that's changed is Coffin was released from prison.  If I was a betting man, I'd lay odds that he's the bastard behind this."

          "Has he made any attempt to contact either of you since he was released?" Malone asked the lieutenant.

          "No," Patterson said, shaking his head.  "Mac was pretty freaked out when he heard Coffin was getting out, so we've kept a close eye on his movements, but he hasn't come anywhere near us, or any of our friends.  Hasn't come near the precinct, either."  He sighed heavily.  "I know it sounds paranoid, especially with no proof, but my gut's telling me it's Coffin."

          With a shudder, Randall remembered Coffin's arrest.  Captain Lucinder had been the one to Mirandize the man, fellow officers cuffing and escorting Coffin from the building.  And, all the while, the Internal Affairs lieutenant had loudly asserted his innocence, claiming that Swift had set him up, that his father and Patterson were probably in on it with him.  No one had believed him, not even the jury when his case had come to trial months later.  A guilty verdict had been returned after only ninety minutes of deliberation.  The quick conviction had further enraged Coffin, and he had vowed to make Mac pay.

          Weeks later, at his sentencing, Coffin looked like a completely different man.  Gone was the suave, arrogantly self-assured detective in a designer suit.  That man had been replaced by a convict dressed in standard orange coveralls, his hands and feet manacled.  Beard stubble and unkempt hair had only added to the picture of a man who had lost everything, including his dignity.

          Coffin had stood quietly enough as the judge began the hearing, but when the sentence of ten years was handed down the former IA lieutenant began to shake with barely-repressed rage.  Before being led out of the courtroom for the last time, Coffin had turned and launched a hate-filled torrent of abuse at Swift.  To his credit, Mac had not responded verbally, but Randall had felt his lover tense when Coffin had vowed he would get out and take his revenge.

          The judge had brought the courtroom to order, sternly warning Coffin that any such attempts would have severe repercussions.  And although the prisoner had fallen silent, there was little doubt in the minds of those who knew him that Coffin could, and would, carry through on his threats if given the opportunity.

          Realizing that he had been lost in his memories of the past, Randall forced himself to focus, concentrating on the two agents sitting at Mac's desk.

          "This file indicates a long-standing animosity between your partner and Coffin.  Do you have any idea what started it?" Martin asked Patterson.

          Randall's short bark of laughter held no humor.  "Wish I did, man.  Mac can get along with just about anyone, but something about him got on Coffin's nerves right from the start – and vice versa."

          Fitzgerald frowned at Patterson's tone.  He didn't think the detective was out and out lying to them, but his instincts told him that the man knew more about the problem between Swift and Coffin than he was willing to tell them right now.  Before he could question Randall further, the loft's intercom buzzed.

Looking startled, Patterson exchanged glances with Martin and Jack.  "Should I get it?" he asked Malone, suddenly feeling out of his depth.  For the first time in his career the shoe was on the other foot, and it gave him more sympathy for the victims that he had sometimes been short or impatient with.

          Jack nodded.  "I'm sure I don't have to tell you, but check for an ID."

          Patterson shot him an exasperated glare before walking over to the intercom panel.  "Yeah, who is it?"

          "Knight Couriers.  I have a package for a Lieutenant R. Patterson.  Can you sign for it?"

          "C'mon up."  Randall pushed the release for the street entrance.

          Jack and Martin quickly took up positions on either side of the loft door.  Thirty seconds later, they could hear the elevator arrive and, a few moments later, a knock sounded.

          Taking a deep, steadying breath, Randall opened the door to find a young Asian man in his early twenties waiting.  The man wore a dark blue uniform with the company's logo embroidered on his shirt pocket.  An ID badge hung from his pocket.

          "Lieutenant Patterson?" the young man asked.  At the confirming nod, the courier handed over a small package and a clipboard.  "Line six, please."

          Hastily scribbling his signature, Randall held onto the clipboard when the other man reached for it.  "Where did this come from?  Who requested the delivery?"

          The man checked his paperwork.  "I'm sorry, but it came from the main office and whoever dropped it off paid in cash."  The man looked unconcerned.  "If there's no return address, we have no way to trace where it came from.  We're just a delivery service."

          Pulling out a five-dollar bill, Patterson handed it over and watched as the guy left.

          Jack took possession of the package, inspecting it carefully.  After several long moments he handed it back to Randall.  "Looks safe enough…"

          Patterson tried to convince his hands to stop shaking as he ripped open the package.  "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath when the material caught.  Finally, the bubble-pack envelope gave way.

Dumping it upside down, Randall shook a small plastic object out onto the desktop.

          "That what I think it is?" Jack asked, frowning.

          Martin nodded.  "Yeah.  It's a flash stick."

"Yeah, memory stick – portable way of transporting a huge amount of data.  Mac uses them all the time for demos of his games."  Turning to look at the agents, Randall asked, "Either of you got a pair of gloves on you?"

          Malone pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and handed them over, watching as Patterson donned them before carefully picking up the memory stick.  He inserted it into an available port on the computer and sat down at the keyboard.

          Martin, also wearing gloves now, picked up the padded envelope and peered inside.  "No sign of a note.  I'll bag it on the off-chance our perp left a print inside somewhere."

          Malone nodded.

          Randall swore intensely as the computer accessed a file and began playing the contents.  Turning the monitor so both agents could see, the lieutenant sat back, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

          "That's Mac," he said, knowing his verbal identification wasn't necessary, but he still needed to voice it anyway.

          The three men watched in silence as a digital camera panned from one side of a bed to the other, catching dirty grey walls, an old, battered straight-back chair, and a television set, playing in the background.  The image then focused in on a man lying on the bed.

          Swift was on his back on a full-sized, stained, bare mattress.  His hands were bound with nylon ropes to a slatted, wooden headboard.  His ankles were bound together, and he was gagged with duct tape.  His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving.

It took Randall several moments of intense scrutiny to reassure himself that Mac was still breathing.  Then his own heart nearly stopped as his partner stirred slightly and opened his eyes.  After blinking sluggishly several times, Mac finally focused on the person holding the camera.  His eyes rounded with recognition, then flew open wide with what Randall recognized as terror.

The scene faded to black.

          "Damn it," Randall hissed.  "When I get my hands on that bastard…"

          Jack grabbed another glove and a plastic evidence bag from his jacket and reached over, carefully removing the flash stick from the computer port.  Dropping it into the bag, he handed it to Martin, saying, "Get these over to the lab ASAP.  I want a complete analysis.  Maybe there's something on this we can use."

          Martin nodded and hurried from the loft carrying the memory stick and the envelope.

          Turning back to Patterson, Jack noted the man's unfocused gaze and his clenched fists.  Reaching out, he gently squeezed the detective's shoulder.  "He's alive; hold on to that."

          As if sensing her human companion's distress, Kema whined softly and came over, resting her head on Patterson's thigh and whining again.  He absently scratched her behind her ears.

          "Yeah, he's alive… for now," Randall said.  "But the lack of any ransom demand makes it pretty clear that this is personal.  And you know as well as I do how those cases usually turn out."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Martin took what he hoped would be the quickest route back to the Javits Federal Building.  As he negotiated the traffic, his thoughts wandered and he once again found himself contemplating what it might be like to be in a close relationship like that Patterson and Swift shared.

          There were obvious dangers, certainly, but he knew there was also a certain fullness to the two men's lives that he could only begin to imagine.

He sometimes thought he could feel hints of what that might be like when he was with Danny.  The easy camaraderie they now shared had eased some of the emptiness he'd felt since coming to New York, at least in part.  He enjoyed having someone to go workout with, or to grab a meal with, or just to talk to and, if he ever had his way, to share his bed with.  But it was better not to think too much about that.

          That just wasn't on the list of possible futures that lay ahead for him.  Danny would someday fall for one of his many conquests, marry her, and start a family.

          Martin had always wanted a family, but not like the one he had been born into.  No, he wanted one like his aunt had shared with both of her husbands.  Victor's sister was everything Victor Fitzgerald was not – open, caring, nurturing, and full of fun and fanciful ideas.  She had always encouraged him to explore his world, to take risks, and to follow his heart.  Unlike his father, who had mapped out Martin's future before he had even graduated from diapers.

          He still marveled at how his grandparents could have managed to raise both a power-hungry, conservative son and a progressive, flower-child daughter.

          It was because of Bonnie that Martin had briefly experimented with his sexuality while in college.  From time to time while he had been in high school he'd met another boy who had aroused his desires, but he'd been too confused and too frightened by those feelings to act on them.

But one summer when he had been dumped with Bonnie and her family so his parents could travel in Europe, things had changed.  It had not been anything unusual, really.  His parents often left him with Bonnie so they could travel unencumbered by a child.  But that summer had also been the summer Alex Tetherman had moved into Bonnie's neighborhood.

The boys had met at a backyard game of flag football one morning, and that same night Martin had had an unusually vivid wet dream, his cries bringing Bonnie to his bedside.

Blushing furiously, he had admitted his occasional attractions to other boys to the woman.  Bonnie had been delighted, and had explained more about human sexuality than he'd been prepared to hear at that point.  But her words had lingered in his mind.

And, when he had found himself the college roommate of another young man who was questioning his sexuality, it wasn't much of a leap to offer himself up as a test case.

Their mostly fumbling attempts at same-sex intercourse had been laughable at best, but Martin had learned something important.  He _was_ attracted to men, at least to _some_ men, and he was sure he could have a satisfying sexual relationship with the right one.  As satisfying as one with a woman he had honest feelings for, he knew.  He wasn't sure if that made him gay, or bisexual, or just experimental.  Bonnie called it "flexible," and that suited him just fine.

But he had given up on those sexual experiments while in graduate school.  An off-handed comment by his father had frozen his spirit of exploration.  He could too well imagine the disgust he would see on his father's face if Victor ever learned about his son's "sordid" sexual escapades.  No doubt he would chalk it all up to youthful indiscretion, but Martin had realized that the last thing his father wanted was a son who was a "fag."

It was that fear, that dread of what his father might say or do if he ever suspected Martin and Danny shared more than just a friendship, that kept him from pushing the envelope with Taylor; that and the fact that he just couldn't imagine the "Latin Lover" sharing his bed with another man.

Still, there had been a few times recently when Martin was almost sure he had caught Danny staring at him – at his ass, more specifically.  But God only knew what was really going on in the man's head.  He was probably just thinking about a recent date, which would also explain the longing Martin had thought he'd seen in the man's dark eyes.

          But even if Danny _was_ interested – and Martin was sure the man wasn't – there was still the obstacle of his father to overcome.  And that, in all likelihood, would be a much harder one than Taylor's heterosexuality.  Because his father wasn't just narrow-minded when it came to matters of sexual orientation, he was also powerful, petty and vengeful.  Victor wouldn't hesitate for a moment before destroying Danny's career if he thought it was necessary in order to save Martin from himself.  Or to save the Fitzgerald family honor, something Martin knew had been sold long ago when Victor had allowed greed and political ambition to become his driving ideals.

          Still, there was a part of Martin that wanted a family of his own, and right now the person he knew he could be most happy with was Danny Taylor, which was why he sometimes found himself flirting with Sam.  It was far easier to go after what you might get rather than to pursue what you could never have.

He would just have to be happy with the friendship he and Danny shared, and look to others to end the longing in his heart.

But that, damn it, was hard when his heart only wanted Danny.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11:30 p.m.**

**11 hours missing**

 

Martin sat at one of the computers in the AV lab, watching the images from the flash stick playing for what must be the hundredth time.  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, then loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt.  He glanced up when he heard someone entering, expecting the technician with a new enhancement of the tape, but it was only Danny.

          The tall man dropped into another chair with a heavy sigh.

          "Any luck finding a witness?" Martin asked him, digging the sleep out of the corner of his eye.

          Danny shook his head, noticing the open top button on Martin's shirt.  His fingers itched to reach out and continue opening the rest.  "Nobody saw anything.  That's their story, and they're all sticking to it.  You?"

          "Watch," Martin said, hitting the play button.  "Courier dropped this off at their loft while we were there with Patterson."

          The two agents watched as the images unfolded –Swift lying on a dirty mattress, hands bound to the headboard, ankles bound together, and what looked like duct tape covering his mouth.  The camera zoomed in as Swift blinked several times before his eyes opened wide.  It only took a moment for the reality of the situation to hit, then anger and fear flared in Swift's blue eyes.  The image faded to black.

"Now _that_ would truly suck," Danny said softly, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Martin agreed.  He just hoped that the blurred images on the TV that had been playing in the room might help them somehow.  But they wouldn't know about that until the lab boys got through with the original version of the recording on the memory stick, and that would take several more hours, at the very least.  His first thought was that they might be able to triangulate the location of the room if they could pick up the outlines of any buildings outside the windows, but the heavy curtains had been drawn and nothing was visible.

          Danny leaned back in his chair, watching as the images played again.  "You know, it's weird…" he started, then trailed off without finishing the thought.  _Shit!  Stop playing with fire, you idiot!_

          "What's weird?" Martin asked him, really just wanting to extend the conversation, the time he might be able to share with Danny, than discovering what was actually on the man's mind at the moment.

          "Swift and Patterson," Danny said.  "I just don't see it."

          Martin frowned, confused.  "Don't see what?"

          Taylor blinked.  He had assumed that Martin would be all over that.  But he didn't take the bait.  Didn't even seem to know what it was he was taking about.  And that surprised him – a lot.  "You know that they're…"

          "What, lovers?"

          Danny nodded and gave a half shrug.  Fitzie was taking this a lot better than he had imagined and hope flared in his heart, and in his groin.  "I'm just saying that they don't strike me as gay, that's all."

          Blue eyes flashed.  "Maybe they're not gay," Martin said.  "Maybe they're both bisexuals who just happened to fall in love with each other."

          "Oh, come on, Martin," Danny challenged him.  "You can't tell me you think these guys remotely come off as gay."

          "I guess they don't," Fitzgerald replied honestly.  "But I _can_ tell you Patterson's out of his mind with worry, especially after seeing this little horror film."

          Danny straightened and leaned forward, his voice dropping as he said, "Just between you and me, can you see them… you know…?"

          Martin swallowed hard, having no trouble at all seeing the two men, or him and Danny in bed together.  "Making love?" he asked.

          Danny hesitated, then nodded, his curiosity getting the upper hand.  "Yeah."  He could see it plain as day, or at least as plainly as he saw himself in his dreams.

          Martin thought for a moment.  "Okay, I'll admit that my first impression of Patterson didn't say he was gay, but he says he and Swift have been together for six years now.  And that file you pulled together says that they're registered as domestic partners, right?"

          "All true," Danny admitted.  And if Patterson and Swift could pull it off, why not him and Martin?  "But you have to admit, they're not your typical gay couple."

          "Hell, Danny, what does a 'typical gay couple' look like?"

          "It wouldn't look like these guys."

          "Why, because they look like a couple of straight guys?"

          _Because they look like you and me, Harvard, and I know I want to fuck you where you sit!_   "Yeah, I guess so.  Look, just forget it.  It's been a long day.  I'm babbling worse than a brook."

          Martin looked decidedly relieved.  "It's forgotten."  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at the images that continued to play, over and over.  After a few moments he asked softly, "Does it bother you?"

          "No," Danny said quickly.  "Look, I don't care who someone sleeps with, as long as nobody gets hurt, you know?"

          Martin nodded.  "Yeah, I know.  Works for me, too.  Think we'll find Swift alive?"

          "Taylor's Rule Number One:  hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and _never_ let the family see either one on your face."

          Martin sighed and nodded again, his eyes opening.  "Just doesn't seem fair, though, you know?  These are two of the good guys."

          "Yeah, I know," Danny agreed, wishing he could lean over and kiss the stress lines around Martin's eyes away.

          Jack leaned into the room and said, "I talked to the lab boys.  We won't have anything back for a few more hours.  Why don't both of you grab some sleep while you can."

          "Will do," Martin replied as he stood.  He glanced over at Danny and added, "My place uptown is closer.  You want to borrow the couch?"

          Danny nodded.  _Rather borrow the other side of the bed…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**1 a.m.**

**13 hours missing**

 

          Mac stirred, fighting the return to consciousness.  He couldn't remember why, but he knew he really didn't want to wake up.

          Dimly, as if through cotton balls someone had shoved into his ears, he heard an amused laugh.  The sound brought him to full alertness as he recognized the source.

Mac's blood ran cold and he began to struggle, discovering he had more range of motion than he had the first time he had woken.  That meant he wasn't bound any longer, but given his body's sluggish reactions, he knew he had been drugged.  _Shit.  Oh shit.  Coffin!_

          He fought back a surge of nausea as memories of his last encounter with the sick bastard flooded his thoughts.  Over the course of his time in the military, and as a cop, he had seen some pretty horrific things.  But his personal memories of Andrew Coffin's attack were by far the ugliest to his mind.  What made the situation worse was that he had no idea what he had ever done to set the man off.

          _You're trying to make sense of a totally irrational man,_ he reminded himself, but that didn't help calm his nerves any.  He had no idea what Coffin had planned for him, but experience told him he would be lucky if he survived it.

Coffin had been stalking him for a long time before the first attack, as he had learned after the fact.  Randall had told him about the thick file they had found in a locked cabinet, full of surveillance photos and notes about his daily routine.

He never knew if Coffin had carefully planned the first attack, or if the man had simply gotten lucky.  In either case, Randall had been out of town at a law enforcement conference when Coffin had lured Mac to an abandoned warehouse.

Expecting to meet a potential client, Mac had walked in all of with his instincts on edge.  Still, seeing the body lying there in the middle of the floor had frozen him in his tracks.  And that had given Coffin the opening he had needed.  Lunging from the shadows, Coffin had taken Swift down with a tazer.

          When Mac finally come to, he found himself blindfolded, gagged, and lying on his back on a tattered mattress, stripped of his jeans and briefs.  His hands had been bound in front of him, then raised and secured to some immovable object above his head.  To his horror, he had felt hands caressing him in intimate places.  Hands he knew couldn't belong to his lover.

He had struggled violently, but that had only served to encourage his attacker to become more aggressive, biting Mac's nipples and roughly fondling his genitals.

Mac could easily recall the overwhelming fear and helplessness he had experienced in those long, agonizing moment.  His captor had all the advantages, except one.

          Mac called on the training he had received while in the SEALs, training that was supposed to keep him alive if he were captured by the enemy.  His captor was looking for a reaction, and although it went against every instinct, he had gone slack and tried to pull his mind away from what was happening to his body.

And it had almost worked.

          Frustrated, the attacker had yanked the gag off Swift's mouth and then clamped his nostrils shut.  When Mac had finally opened his mouth to suck in a breath, an erect penis had been forced inside.  Without thinking, he had bitten down hard, taking perverse satisfaction at the resulting howl of pain.  It had been worth the resulting beating.

          When he awoke again, it had been to find the man curled up behind him, violating him with his fingers.  Realizing that he was no longer gagged, Mac had yelled loudly, hoping there was someone in the vicinity who might call the police.  A hand had quickly been clamped over his mouth.

Infuriated, Mac bit down with all his might, tasting blood this time.  That had sent his captor into a rage and brought on another, more savage, beating.

At some point, the man must have decided to secure Mac's hands to something different, but he had been interrupted.  From the details he and Randall had pieced together, months later, Mac knew that a security guard had arrived, and had begun checking the warehouse.  He only made a sweep twice a day, mostly to ward off vandalism as there was nothing of any value in the older section of the building where Mac was being held.

          It took Mac several long moments to realize that not only had the beating stopped, but he was alone.  The light coming from a half-opened exterior door allowed him to find the rest of his clothing.

Getting to his feet was a struggle, but pulling on his clothing was even more so.  Still, he knew he had to do it if he was going to get out of this without too many awkward questions.

          At first, he had thought that he had imagined hearing the guard's voice.  But as the man had drawn closer, Mac realized what had scared his captor off, and he had nearly laughed with relief.

          Later, Mac learned from Randall that the guard had found a jimmied door and had entered the section of the building where he was captive to check things out.  He had found the body of the dead homeless man, and called it in to the police.  Hearing more noises coming from a small office partition, the guard had yelled a warning and went to investigate.  Finding Mac, he was suspicious at first, thinking Swift might have been responsible for the body he had found out in the warehouse.  A closer look told him otherwise, and he had quickly gotten Swift outside.

          Mac knew that the presence of the mattress would probably raise some questions about the nature of his assault.  Luckily, there were plenty of signs that the homeless used the warehouse as shelter.  That and the fact that he made no mention of anything other than a beating led investigators to ignore the possibility of a sexual assault, much to his relief.

          With a shudder, Swift's thoughts returned to his present situation.  This time Coffin would have planned the attack more carefully.  After all, he'd had plenty of time in prison to consider his revenge.  There would be no interruptions this time, of that Mac felt sure.

          He swallowed down another surge of nausea and fear.  _God, please don't let Randall have to watch any of this!_

          Coffin must have seen something in his prey's expression, because he moved into Mac's limited range of vision and smiled.  "It's been a long time, Swift.  Good to see you again."

          "Fuck you, Andy," Mac growled.

          The oily laugh returned as Coffin leaned over his victim.  Grabbing Mac's crotch, he squeezed, watching as Swift fought back a grimace.  "Oh, one of us is going to get fucked, Swift," he promised, dark eyes flashing angrily.  "But I can guarantee you it won't be me."

          "You wish," Mac taunted.

          Quick as a snake, Coffin tightened his grip.  "Careful, Mac, you push me too far and all Patterson will have left to identify is some blood spatter."

          Swift knew he should keep his mouth shut, but it went against his nature to give in without a fight.  And, since he couldn't physically retaliate, he had no option but to use words.  A feral grin lifted the corners of his mouth.  He knew he had Coffin outmatched in that arena as well.

          "Yeah?  You can try, Andy," Mac continued, using the hated diminutive of Coffin's first name.  "But given your track record… I doubt you'll get very far."  Swift saw Coffin's expression shift to rage in an instant and knew he had pushed too far.  Coffin lashed out with his fists, hitting any part of Swift he could reach.

A part of his brain screamed at Mac to fight back, but his drugged body couldn't respond.  Unfortunately it didn't do anything to block the pain.

          Luckily for Mac, his captor's blows were wild and uncoordinated.  Most of them did little real damage, until one caught Mac's jaw, knocking him unconscious.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The first thing he became consciously aware of in the dream was the feeling of warmth, and the next was a sense of comfort that seemed to surround him like a blanket.  Then he realized he was lying on his side, in bed, someone spooned up behind him – someone with a hard-on that was pressed into the crack of his naked ass.

          But he wasn't afraid.

          He moaned softly, amazed by how good that thick rod felt, nestled there between his cheeks, how good the fingers, pulling gently on one of his nipples, felt.  He was safe in those arms, and loved.

He began to rock his hips back slightly, pressing against the thick shaft and wishing that it was buried inside of him instead of teasing him.  Squeezing his cheeks together, he willed it inside of him, but a soft chuckle was the only response.  _Shit_.  The man was a fucking tease.

          His attention shifted and he noticed that he was lying on one of the man's arms, and whoever his lover was, he was groping for him, long, slender fingers closing around his already engorged shaft.  The fingers were cool and dry and he felt himself pressing his hips back again, begging shamelessly to be fucked.

          But, again, he was ignored.

          The hand on his cock moved, thumb rubbing over the tip of his crown, spreading the precome that was oozing out of him over the soft, spongy surface, over his glans, and finally down along the entire length of his shaft.

          The touch felt so good, so right, and, combined with the assault on his hard nipple and the feel of the cock spreading his crack open, he almost came right then and there.  But the pumping stopped, and his lover grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed hard, staving off the building orgasm.

          "Danny," he whimpered, jerking in his man's grip…  He groaned and his eyes popped open.

_A dream?_

Oh yeah, definitely a dream, he knew.  He was in his own bed, alone, his hand wrapped around his own leaking cock.

          "Sonuvabitch," he breathed, not wanting to risk waking the man who was sleeping on his couch.  The man he'd just been dreaming about.

          Rolling over onto his back, Martin stroked his aching erection, his body shaking and twitching in response.  He was close, so close.  Why the hell hadn't he just come in his dream?

          Probably his subconscious making sure his partner didn't wake to the sounds of Martin jerking off or having a wet dream, because Danny sure as hell wouldn't be able to tell which one it was.

          But now he was in a hell of a state, and he needed to do something about it or his balls would be aching all day.  So he closed his eyes and thought about Swift and Patterson, trying to imagine what it would look like if the two men were making love.  He imagined them kissing, fondling each other, taking their clothes off, going down on each other…

          His erection began to soften.  _Damn it_.

          He huffed out a frustrated sigh and just concentrated on arousing himself.  His eyes drifted shut again as he stroked the so-soft skin of his shaft, tightening his grip under the head and pulling.  He rubbed his thumb over the slit at the top of the flared head, collecting the drops of precome and smearing them over his aching flesh.

          The images from his dream returned… Danny, holding him… Danny, pulling his shaft… Danny, stroking his fingertip over the hard pebble his nipple had become…

He could hear the man sticking his finger in his mouth and wetting it before he returned his attention to the sensitive little nub, rubbing moist circles around and around the sharp pucker.  God how he wanted Danny to take it into his mouth, suck on it, nibble on it…   _Danny… oh, shit… Danny_ , he moaned silently.

He was going crazy from the feel of the man's cock, full and throbbing, nestled into his crack…  Christ.  He could feel the veins standing out along the thick sides, feel Danny's heartbeat in the blood that was filling it, making it hard, so hard…  He wanted that cock.  He wanted it in his ass, and he wanted it there _now_.

His hand worked faster, pumping himself as the images continued to play out.  As he felt Danny let go of his cock and pull his hand free, the other hand, pleasuring his nipple, disappeared as well.

He whimpered softly, his face turned into the pillow to muffle the sound.

          But then Danny was pushing him over onto his belly.  Those same hands were pulling his hips up… opening his ass… thumb rubbing over that most intimate pucker of flesh… slick finger slipping inside of him…

          He moaned softly into the pillow, then turned his head and gulped in some air.  The sweat was beginning to roll off his forehead.  He could feel Danny's finger in his ass, sliding in and out… in and out… twisting… and then there were two… and three… stretching him, filling him, but it wasn't enough.  He needed more, he needed that thick bone plowing into him.

          He whimpered again, reaching down to cup his balls in his other hand, rolling them with his fingers, pulling on them.

          Then he felt the tip of Danny's cock as it pressed tightly against his puckered anus.

"This what you want?" he heard Danny whisper in his ear.  "Tell me…"

          "Yes," he whispered, begging.  "Yes, please, Danny…  Please."

The slick, spongy softness pressed harder, slowly opening him, easing into him, flaring him open so the lips of his sphincter could close tightly around the man's shaft…

"Yes, oh God yes," Martin moaned.  "More… more…"

Danny kept pushing, slowly invading his body with that hot, smooth, pulsing cock… filling him… filling him… spearing him until was full, completely full, every inch of that beautiful cock buried inside his twitching ass.

"Fuck me," he begged.  "Fuck me…"

          Danny ground his balls tightly against his ass, sinking in just that little bit more… and then he was moving, pulling back out until Martin, afraid he might not stop, clamped down tightly, catching the retreating cock below the head and refusing to let go.

          A soft chuckle accompanied the touch of light fingers, trailing down his back.  "Easy, Fitzie, easy, I'm gonna make you feel good… real good… I promise."

"Yes," he gulped.  "Fuck me, Danny," he groaned, his muscles relaxing again.

Danny pushed back in again, moaning softly as he penetrated the tight channel…

          Martin squeezed his crown, then began to stroke himself.  He released his balls, shoved his finger into his mouth and then reached down and pressed it into his ass as far as he could.  He lifted his knees and sank it in deeper, then began poking it in and out of his ass as quickly as he could while he jerked on his cock.

          Danny was fucking him, hard and fast, pulling out almost all the way, driving back in to the hilt.  He was being taken, owned, and he wanted nothing more than what he was getting.

          Danny pulled his hips up farther, his cock plunging in deeper than before, like a hammer, driving in a nail, each blow sending the nail deeper and deeper into the wood…

          Danny's balls slapped against his ass… sweat dripped from Danny's chin and fell onto his back, and they grunted in unison with each thrust given and accepted.

          Then Danny's hand closed around Martin's engorged, drooling shaft, his fingers tightening, beginning to rub, up and down, up and down, as he cock continued to plow into him… in and out… in and out…

          Martin's body convulsed and he ground his teeth shut, willing the cry of release to stall in his throat.  His hips jerked up off the mattress and he shook violently, come shooting again and again onto his belly and chest, onto the sheets, running over his still frictioning hand.  He kept jerking himself off, kept shooting as he imagined what it would be like to feel Danny's hot come firing into his ass, filling him up so far he could taste it….

          He collapsed back onto the bed, panting, his body quivering in the aftermath of his orgasm.  He held onto his cock, milking it, stroking it gently until he was once more soft.

          His breathing slowly returned to normal, but the afterglow lingered.  Danny was in the living room, so close and yet so goddamn far.

          With a softly muttered curse, Martin released his cock and pushed back the sheet and blankets.  He climbed from the bed and walked quietly to his bathroom.  Closing the door, he walked over and stood for a long moment before his body relaxed enough so he could urinate.  He sighed his relief when he started and, when he was finished, he took a moment to wet a washcloth and wipe himself clean.  He rinsed it out and hung it in the shower stall to dry, then went back to bed.

          Rolling onto his side, he closed his eyes and felt a sudden wave of longing sweep over him, filling his eyes with tears.  So close and still so goddamn far…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**4:15 a.m.**

**16 hours missing**

 

Randall glanced over at his alarm clock, sighing when he saw the time.  He knew he must have dozed off at some point during the night, but it didn't feel that way.

          Aware of a solid body lying stretched out along his back, the cop groaned.  Kema had been whining and restless without Mac there, so he had brought her upstairs, hoping she would settle down.  She had, and then proceeded to take over the bed, at one point nearly pushing him out of it.

          Knowing that he wasn't going to get any more sleep, Randall climbed out of bed and dressed in a sweat suit.  Kema stirred and watched him, waving her tail in anticipation.

          "You're too damned smart for your own good, y'know that?" he scolded her.

          She howled softly in response, and Randall shook his head.  Why his partner had wanted a Husky, Randall would never know.  Thank God the loft had thick walls or the neighbors would have been complaining about all the noise the dog made.

          "C'mon, girl, you wanna go for a walk?"  He slapped his thigh, and she jumped down from the bed, barking in earnest now.

          Randall could only hope that she didn't try to make a habit of sleeping with him or Mac was going to have a fit when he got home.

And he simply refused to consider the possibility that Mac might not be coming home.

          Heading downstairs, Randall grabbed his jacket and watched as Kema headed straight for her leash, whining and yodeling with gusto.  He hooked it onto her collar and led her out to the elevator.

          Mac had had a section of the roof landscaped years ago.  It had been his escape from the hustle and bustle of the city without having to fight the traffic or the crowds.  And, now that they had Kema, it was perfect for those times their schedules didn't allow for a long walk with her.

          It was still dark and the air had a chill to it.  Winter was just around the corner.  Randall shivered, zipping up his jacket.  Leaning down, he unfastened the dog's leash, letting her explore her territory.

          He sank into one of the wrought iron chairs they kept up here and stared out over the city, wondering for the hundredth time where his lover was, and what was happening to him.

"Hang in there, Mac," he whispered.  "We beat Coffin before, we can do it again.  Just don't give up, y'hear me?  I _will_ find you, wherever you are.  I swear it, Mac.  I will find you.  You just have to hang in there until I do."

          Randall leaned his head back against the chair, staring up into the early morning sky.  He wished he could turn off the memories of Mac's last encounter with Coffin, wished he could believe that his partner wasn't in the sick sadist's hands, but years of police work and instinct told him he was right.  And if he was, he just wasn't sure Mac could survive a second time.

          He realized with a shudder that he still vividly remembered all the events of the day Mac had finally told him the truth about what had happened in that warehouse.

It had been a hellish day from the start.  The Special Victims Unit detectives had been tied up on a high profile case so he had taken the statement of a woman who had walked in, reporting that she had been raped.

He couldn't help feeling that making her recount the incident, no matter how necessary, victimized her all over again.  Her extreme reactions, and the wounded, haunted look in her eyes, had torn at Randall's professional mask.  He had never been able to understand men who perverted something so special.

          As the woman had haltingly recounted her story it became obvious that she had been a target of opportunity, at the wrong place at the wrong time.  She had stopped more than once during the process, her expression devastated, begging him to tell her what she had done wrong.

He had hated the fact that he didn't have any answers he could give her – none that would help her cope with what she had been through.  Taking her statement and walking her through the mug books just didn't feel like enough, so Randall had also contacted the Rape Crisis Center.

          While they had waited for a counselor to arrive, he had kept her company, letting her talk about whatever she wanted to share with him.  It wasn't until she was about to leave with the representative that she shook off some of the shock and turned, shyly offering him her hand and thanking him for his assistance.

Her uncertainty had stirred something in his mind, something familiar, but he couldn't pin it down at the time.

          To top off the day, Coffin had stopped by, insinuating that Patterson had overstepped his jurisdiction by handling what should have been an SVU case.  Randall kept his temper in check until the lieutenant said the only reason he had taken the woman's statement had been to avoid doing any other work that day.  But just as Randall had started to verbally flay Coffin, Captain Lucinder had walked up behind the IA Lieutenant.  In a tone that left no room for doubt, Lucinder had informed Coffin that Patterson had interviewed the woman on _his_ authority and, if there were any problems with that, then Coffin should have come to him, personally.

          Leaving the station later that day had been a relief, and Randall wanted nothing more than to get home and share some quality time with his lover.  He had returned home from the conference ten days ago, but it felt like he and Mac had barely spent any time alone together since then.

          When he had entered the loft, he'd found his partner in the kitchen, making dinner.  Walking up behind Mac, he'd wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed his neck.  To his surprise, Swift had tensed, quickly pulling free and putting some distance between them.

          Randall had tried to drag an explanation out of his lover, but Mac just denied that there was a problem.  When he'd pushed harder, Swift had snapped that his ribs were still bothering him from the beating and he just wasn't in the mood.

But throughout the whole conversation, Randall had seen that Mac couldn't meet his eyes.

          Looking back now, Patterson knew his own weariness and frustration had blinded him to the warning signs.  And maybe he had just been too close to the situation.  After all, Mac had taken worse beatings, or so he'd thought.

          He pursued Mac that night, trying to get him to talk.  Mac broke free, snapping that there was nothing to talk about and that he needed a shower.

What followed still filled Patterson with bitter regret.

          He had given Mac time to get into the shower, and then had stripped and walked in after him.  It wasn't unusual for one of them to join the other without asking.

          Mac had had his back to the bathroom door and he didn't hear Randall enter.  But the draft from the shower curtain being pulled back caught his attention, and he'd startled badly.

Turning to face his lover, he'd snapped, "If I'd wanted company, I would've asked."

Without giving Randall time to react, Mac grabbed a towel and pushed past him, naked and dripping.

          Thoroughly confused, and more than a little worried, Randall had followed Mac to the bedroom.  They needed to talk this out or it was going to tear them apart, and that was something Randall just wasn't prepared to let happen.

          When he reached the top of the stairs, Randall saw his partner was toweling himself dry.  Swift didn't turn around, didn't in any way acknowledge Randall's presence.  It was as if he'd already tuned him out of his life.

          Closing the distance between them, Randall grabbed his partner's arm, hauling Mac around so they stood, face to face.  Jaw clenched, Mac had pulled back, but he couldn't break Randall's grip.  He stumbled and they both fell to the floor.

Being slightly larger, Randall pressed his advantage and pinned Mac, demanding to know what the hell was going on.

          He had totally missed the panic in his lover's eyes that night.  Later, Mac admitted that he hadn't even realized that it was Randall who was pinning him down.  He only knew that he was naked, and so was the man on top of him.

          Patterson had been surprised by the head-butt, but the knee to his groin had sent all other thoughts fleeing, and he'd curled up on his side, trying to catch his breath.

When he'd finally been able to take interest in the world again, Randall discovered Mac had crawled away to the farthest, darkest corner of the bedroom, and had curled up into a tight ball.  He remembered feeling like the temperature had suddenly plummeted thirty degrees.  Recalling the rape victim he'd spent so much time with earlier that day, the pieces finally fell into place.  His stomach turned over as he realized Mac was displaying all the classic signs of a victim of sexual assault…

          Kema's bark and a pigeon's squawk of protest drew Randall back to the present.  He shivered, the sick despair that had swamped him when he had uncovered Mac's secret washing over him again.  And here they were, possibly facing a repetition of the horror.

          "I should've killed the bastard when I had the chance," Patterson muttered, scratching Kema's ear.

          He was drawn back into the past, calling to mind how he'd had to clamp down on his own emotions in order to get through to Mac that night.  His partner remained curled into a tight ball, cowering in the corner, unmoving.

          Knowing Mac needed some time and figuring that it would be less threatening if he got dressed, Randall had pulled on a pair of sweats he had pulled from the dresser.  He could see Mac was shivering, but whether from cold or fear, or both, Randall couldn't say.

          Keeping his voice soft and low, he talked to Mac as he approached and knelt down so they were closer to eye level.  To this day, Randall had no memory of what he had said that night, more concerned with calming his lover than actually communicating with him.

          It took a while, but Mac had finally come out of it, realizing that he was in the loft and safe with Randall.  He had reached out, letting his partner wrap him in a blanket and pull him to his feet.

          Randall knew better than to push for details.  It was too soon yet.  And, given the length of time that had elapsed since the attack, a few more hours wasn't going to make any difference.  Mac's emotional welfare was his top priority.

          Mac had allowed himself to be tucked into bed, but when Randall said that he would sleep downstairs on the couch, he balked.

Still uncertain, Randall had made sure his partner was comfortable under the covers and then settled on top, wrapped in the same blanket he had used for Mac earlier.

          Sleep came slowly for him that night, his own thoughts a jumble of confusion.  How had Mac, one of the most highly trained professionals Randall knew, become that victim of sexual assault?  Why hadn't he fought harder?

But Randall knew that was unfair, and unimportant.  What mattered was getting Mac through it, getting them both through it, together.

          A terror-filled cry had awakened him in the pre-dawn hours.  To his surprise, Mac had moved closer, seeking him out in an unspoken desire to be held.

He wrapped his arms around the man, not tightly, but enough to reassure him, all the while talking softly, promising Mac it would be okay.

          At the time, Randall had wondered if that could possibly be true.  Could things ever be okay again?

But they had worked long and hard to deal with the issues, and they had succeeded.  If anything their relationship had ended up stronger than it ever had been.

          Randall forced down the nagging fear that what Mac had suffered at Coffin's hands the first time might be mild compared to what his lover was now facing.

          "God, give us both the strength we need to get through this," he whispered thickly.  He wasn't even sure if he really believed in the deity his grandmother had been so devoted to but, at this point, he figured he needed all the help he could get.  And so did Mac.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ *~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:07 a.m.**

**20 hours missing**

          Randall arrived at the FBI offices early.  He had been tempted to show up even sooner, but common sense had kicked in, reminding him that these people had lives outside of the job and most likely weren't putting them on hold for one missing ex-cop.  To them Mac Swift was just another case number, or so he thought.

          Pacing in the large lobby of the Javits Building, Patterson ignored the frequent stares of the security guards.  He still couldn't decide if it was too early to try and find Jack or any of his team yet.  Then, as his pacing led him back toward the main doors, he saw the familiar face of Agent Fitzgerald.

          If the younger man was surprised to see him, he hid it well.

          "Lieutenant Patterson," Martin greeted.  "How are you holding up?" he asked as he reached out, shaking the other man's hand.

          "I've been better," Randall admitted, the question having sounded genuinely sincere.  "I don't suppose there's been any progress?"

          "I'm afraid not," Martin said as they walked over to the security checkpoint.  He had already called Jack, who had nothing new to tell him.  When they had passed security, he gestured at the bank of elevators.  "Why don't you come up with me?  I'll show you where you can get a cup of coffee and we'll take a fresh look at things, unless you need to get back to work…?"

          "Thanks, I'd appreciate it."  Randall cleared his throat.  "As far as work goes, I'm on an indefinite leave until this is over; even got a dog-sitter for Kema so I'm here for the duration."

          Martin nodded, punching the button for the elevator.  "It's hard enough for the civilians to wait it out when a loved one goes missing.  Must be harder still when you're on the job and you know what can happen."  He broke off, blushing slightly as he realized he had probably said more than enough.

          "Yeah," Patterson agreed and if he was offended, he gave no sign of it.

          "You eat yet this morning?"

          Patterson nodded.  "I picked up something on the way over."

          "Okay.  Look, you know, you don't have to wait down in the lobby.  Jack's already here."  Martin flashed the man a thin smile.  "I think he crashes on the couch in his office when we've got an active case," he said, adding, "But don't tell him I said so."

          "Appreciate it, man," Patterson replied, a small smile on his lips.  Mac was like that when he was working a case, too.  Hell, so was he for that matter.

          "We've got a couple of places you can wait up here that are a whole lot more comfortable than the chairs down in the lobby."

          "Glad to hear it, but I tend to spend my time pacing."

          "Well, it's industrial carpeting, so do your best."

          That prompted a soft chuckle from the detective.  "Thanks," he said, realizing that he was feeling better, and that that had been the man's intention all along.

They rode the rest of the way up in silence.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**8:20 a.m.**

 

          Viv followed Jack into his office, Malone carrying a bag with his McDonald's breakfast and a cup of coffee from the break room.  As they walked she updated him in her usual efficient style on what she had found out about Coffin.

          "So, I take it that this thing between Swift and Coffin was more than just a simple personality clash," Jack commented as he sank into his chair.

          "Much more," she agreed, sliding into one of the padded leather chairs on the opposite side of Malone's desk.  "According to the IAD files, Coffin initiated a number of investigations of Swift while he was on the Force, for things that might be seen as, well, petty.  Nothing ever panned out.  He continued to hound Swift after he left the Force, but since he had no jurisdiction over a private citizen, nothing ever came of it.  He did, however, have jurisdiction inside the department, and turned his investigations to Randall Patterson."

"And still nothing," Jack concluded for her and then took a bite of his breakfast.

"Patterson's a good cop; a clean cop."

"Already knew that," Jack said after he swallowed, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  He followed up with a sip of his coffee and then asked, "What about the attack on Swift?"

Viv nodded, skipping through her notes while Malone continued to eat.  "I can tell you after reading the medical report that the assault was pretty brutal, and apparently unprovoked.  Swift bit Coffin during the attack, although he didn't know who his attacker was at the time.  Gave them the blood evidence they needed when it came time to prosecute."

"Bet there was some tense waiting until the HIV test came back negative after that one," Jack said softly.

"No doubt," she replied.

Jack leaned back, a long sigh escaping his lips.  His instincts were shouting loud and clear that there was more to all of this than what was on the surface, but what that might be, he wasn't sure.  Given Swift's background, he wondered if it didn't have something to do with his time in black ops, but he doubted he would be able to get far checking into that area of Swift's background.

"There's something Randall's not telling us about Swift and Coffin," he finally said.

Viv's lips curved into a cunning smile.  "Give the man a gold star."

Jack grinned back at her.  "What did you find out?"

"I talked to a friend in the DA's office.  It seems that there was some interesting evidence that was left out at the trial – too inflammatory, according to the judge."

"Well?" Malone prompted, appreciating once again just how good his team really was.

"When Coffin was arrested, his lawyer and the DA's office both had independent psych evals performed.  Both analysts reached the same conclusion."  She waited until Jack finished his coffee before adding, "Andrew Coffin is a repressed homosexual, but that was never admitted into evidence."

Jack frowned.  "So, what do we have here, a story of unrequited love?"

"Hardly," she countered.  "I also spent some time with an old friend of mine who works in Coffin's old precinct.  While Coffin was there, four patrol officers and at least two detectives were assaulted by an unknown assailant.  All of them reported being groped or fondled, but none of them were raped."

"And the rumor mill says Coffin was behind those assaults?  He was acting out because he couldn't stand the thought he was gay?"

She nodded.  "That's what the DA's therapist who saw Coffin believed.  All of the victims were either rumored or known to be gay."

"And _none_ of this came out at the trial?"

"No.  There was nothing to tie Coffin to any the other assaults; it was all circumstantial.  He actually handled most of the investigations of those assault complaints himself."

Jack snorted and shook his head in disbelief.  "How convenient for him."

"I think Swift's in serious danger."  Another long sigh from Jack told Vivian that he felt the same way.  "If Coffin's had some kind of mental break…"

"Yeah, I know," Malone replied softly, crumbling up the remains of his breakfast in the wrapper, his appetite gone.  "We'll be lucky to find pieces, if that's the case.  Did Patterson know about any of this?"

Vivian thought for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder as she said, "I doubt it.  Rumors, maybe, but as far as I can determine, the profiles the therapists came up with were kept confidential."

"Think we could get our hands on those profiles?"

Before Viv could offer her opinion, Danny rapped on one of the glass door to Malone's office and immediately stepped inside.  "Hey," he greeted them, "sorry to interrupt, but the lab techs were able to isolate and enhance the reflection on the television set in the hotel room where Swift was being held.  It's not a full image of a face, but they think it's enough for an ID."

Jack nodded.  "Have Randall Patterson brought in to look at it."

"No problem, he's already here," Danny replied.  "He and Martin have been combing through what we have so far.  I'll grab a hardcopy and bring him in," he offered, then retreated from the office.

"If Patterson IDs the face as Coffin's?" she asked Malone.

"Let's see what he says first."

Jack watched as Danny and Randall rounded the corner and headed straight to his office just moments later.  Taylor was carrying a file folder with the enhanced image inside.  He re-entered the office and handed the file to Jack, who opened the folder and stared down at what the techs had been able to do with the image.  There was the faint outline of nearly half of the lower two-thirds of a man's face, barely discernable in the enhancement.  It wasn't much to go on, but then maybe it didn't need to be.

"Well?" Patterson questioned, his expression pinched with worry.

"Do you recognize this man?" Jack asked, handing the image to Randall.

The police lieutenant stared at the shadowy face for a long moment, then let the page drop onto Malone's desk.  He turned and pushed brusquely past Danny, bolting out of the office.

Jack was immediately on his feet, following the detective, but as he stepped out into the hallway, he caught sight of Martin coming toward him.  Fitzgerald looked from Jack, to Randall and back again.

Malone gestured to the retreating detective, and Martin nodded his understanding, immediately turning to follow the other man, who had slipped into the men's room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The stricken look on Patterson's face immediately captured Martin's attention, but then his gaze slid past the man to movement a little farther down the hallway.  He saw Jack motion to him to follow the police lieutenant.

Nodding his understanding, he turned and entered the restroom, unsure of what he would find.  He grimaced in sympathy when hearing the sounds of a stomach turning inside out greeted him.  A moment later came the flush of a commode.

          Grabbing some paper towels, Martin ran them under some warm water and squeezed out the excess.  He handed them to Patterson as the man exited the stall, watching patiently as the detective nodded his thanks and then rubbed the towels over his face while intently studying his reflection in the mirror.

          "You okay?" Fitzgerald quietly asked him.

          "As I can be," was the response, accompanied by a weary shrug.

          Knowing that Jack had sent him after Patterson for a reason, Martin probed, "Beyond the obvious strain, what brought this on?"

          For a while it seemed as if the detective wasn't going to answer him, then Patterson expelled a sharp breath and said, "The image your guys have been trying to clean up, that shadow on the TV screen?"  He glanced over, seeing the agent nod.  "It's definitely Andrew Coffin."  Patterson's expression hardened and his voice tightened painfully.  "That sick bastard has my partner."

          Martin considered the man's words, and his tone.  Both puzzled him.  Patterson had said from the start that he thought Coffin had to be behind this, so why the drama now?

Since it looked like the lieutenant had no intention of explaining, Martin knew he would have to get it out of the man in another way.

          "You're holding back, Patterson," he accused, ignoring the man's start of surprise.  "Just what did Coffin do to your partner?"

          Randall leaned heavily against the sink counter and said, "I wasn't around when it happened…  And, to be honest, I'm not sure it would've made any difference."

          "You're talking about the assault that got Coffin locked up?" Fitzgerald clarified.

          Nodding, Randal breathed, "Yeah."  Glancing around as if noticing where they were for the first time, he asked, "Is there, uh, some place more private we could talk?"

          "Sure.  Absolutely," Martin agreed, his tone more gentle now.  Whatever was going on between Swift and Coffin, it was bad, and the sooner they knew what it was, the better.  He gestured toward the door.  "C'mon, let's get a cup of coffee and you can tell me what the hell's going on here."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A few minutes later Randall and Martin walked into a small conference room.  To insure their privacy Martin shut the door behind them and locked it.  He knew Jack and the others could watch them from the observation room on the other side of the one-way glass, but he didn't think they would.

          Randall took a sip of his coffee, surprised to find it not only drinkable, but actually quite good.  But as soon as his thought returned to the reality he was living, he began to pace in the small room.  He knew he had to tell Fitzgerald the whole story, but it felt like he would be violating Mac's privacy, his confidentiality, if he did.  Still, it might be the only way to find his lover in time.  The more these agents knew, the better they could conduct their investigation.  He knew that, but it didn't make facing the talk any less daunting.

Avoiding eye contact made it easier, at least for his conscience.

          "I'm sure you know by now that Mac and Coffin have a long history.  Coffin was like a rabid dog around Mac and, if anything, it escalated after Mac left the force."

He stopped to take another sip of his coffee, trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.  Martin didn't seem to mind, sitting patiently, watching him with genuine concern and sympathy.

"I was out of town when Coffin crossed the last line."

          "The assault, you mean?" Martin asked when Patterson didn't continue immediately.

          Randall nodded.  "But there was more to it than just the beating.  Y'see, Mac never told the cops, or the EMS guys who treated him at the scene, that Coffin tried to rape him.  Didn't tell me, either, for that matter.  Hell, he didn't even know it _was_ Coffin at that point."

          For Martin, it felt like a piece of the puzzle had finally dropped into place.  He whistled softly and shook his head.  "So this isn't just a bad personality clash…"

          "No.  Oh, no.  The only thing that saved Mac was the fact that Coffin's all mouth and no follow-through, if you get my drift."

"He couldn't sustain his erection long enough to complete the rape," Martin stated, wanting to be sure he was perfectly clear on the details.

"Yeah," Patterson replied, his expression a mask of pure disgust.  "A security guard heard Mac fighting and came in to check it out.  Coffin got spooked and took off.  He'd beaten the hell out of Mac, though.  I guess he figured that would have to do.

"Mac didn't want the guard to call the cops, but it was already too late, he'd already called it in when he'd found a body – homeless guy.  Mac knew he'd have to get checked out, but since he was conscious and on his feet, the medics couldn't take him to the hospital without his permission."

"Which he refused to give," Martin guessed.

"Yeah.  It was logged as a physical assault.  The CSIs at the scene took pictures of the bruises that they used at the trial."  Randall dropped into a seat at the opposite end of the table from Martin.

          "When did you find out about the attempted rape?"

          The detective sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.  "If I'd been home when it'd happened, he wouldn't have been able to hide it, but since I wasn't, Mac had time to pull himself together.  I didn't see him until three days after the attack, and let me tell you, he still looked like death warmed over."

          Martin winced.  He had seen the photos that had been taken at the scene.  The bruises would have been even more vivid by the time Patterson had seen his partner three days later.

          "I went to give him a hug and he ducked out of it pretty quick.  I put it down to him being in pain.  I mean, what else was I supposed to think?"

Randall got up, the emotions too sharp and painful to allow him to relax.  Walking around the perimeter of the room, he continued, "It took a couple weeks for me to finally figure it out.  It was as plain as day, but I never saw it…"

          "How so?" Fitzgerald asked him.

          "I'd had this really shitty day… started out interviewing a female rape victim.  None of the Special Victims Unit detectives were available, so the captain asked if I'd step up.  I'd done it before; no big deal.  That wasn't the problem.  Then I had a run-in with Coffin over some half-assed notion of his that I was horning in on another unit's work; ended up dragging my captain into it.  Let's just say the day went downhill from there when I went home to Mac.

"He was in the kitchen, cooking.  I came up behind him and put my arms around him…"  Randall shook his head.  "He froze, man.  Totally shut me out."

Exhausted from the adrenaline rush of identifying Coffin, and his recent lack of sleep, Patterson sank back into one of the conference chairs.  He stared at the tabletop, idly tracing the patterns in the wood grain with the tip of his fingers.

A small part of him wondered why he found it so easy to talk to this young man.  But, under the present circumstances, he decided to accept it for what it was – a helping hand.

          Martin knew there was more to the story, but he gave Patterson time to gather his thoughts before he prompted, "And…?"

          "I tried to get him to talk about it, but he just kept pushing me away.  I knew if we didn't get whatever it was out in the open, it was going to tear us apart, and I couldn't face that."  Regret shadowed the detective's expression now.  "As hard as he pushed me away, that's how hard I pushed him to talk…  It finally turned into a full-blown physical confrontation.  Mac _totally_ freaked.  Hit me with everything he had, and then crawled off to curl up in a corner.  That's when I remembered the woman I'd interviewed that morning."  He shook his head, eyes dark with the memory.  "All the pieces just fell into place.  I _knew_ Mac hadn't just been beaten, that he'd been sexually assaulted."

          Seeing the grief and pain in Randall's eyes made Martin's gut twist.  Patterson's reactions were exactly the same as he would expect from the husband of a female rape victim.

 _Well, what the hell did you expect?_ he silently chided himself.  But he didn't have an answer, his own recent erotic urges clouding his thoughts too much to sort it out swiftly.  Still, if it had been Danny…  He mentally shook himself.  Now was _not_ the time to be thinking about that.

          The lieutenant took several slow breaths before continuing.  "It took us a long time, but we got past it.  And instead of it tearing us apart, it brought us closer together.  Thank God."

          Realizing that anything he might say would only be platitudes, Martin simply nodded.  He had taken the training, had listened to the lectures, and he knew the statistics.  Many hetero couples split up in the aftermath of a rape.  Patterson and Swift had defied the odds, not only surviving, but strengthening their relationship in spite of the attack.  The bond they shared had endured one of the harshest tests possible, and it had held fast.

And Martin finally understood why the man sitting before him had been so adamant that his partner's disappearance had had nothing to do with an affair.  He also envied him more.  To have a love in your life like that…  That was a gift from God as far as he was concerned.

          He watched silently as Patterson took another slow, deep breath, anguish coloring his features as the memories continued playing out in the man's mind.  Then Randall leaned forward, lowering his head until his forehead rested against his arms, which were folded on the surface of the conference table.  The detective had admitted to a lack of sleep, and now he was trying to cope with the emotional repercussions of identifying Coffin and realizing the full implications of his lover's disappearance.  "Hard" didn't even begin to describe it.

          Standing, Martin walked around the table, pausing as he passed Patterson.  "Stay here as long as you need to," he said softly, resting his hand on the man's shoulder and squeezing gently.  "I'll let you know if anything breaks."

He got no response, but then he hadn't expected one either.  Martin left the conference room.  Patterson had exceeded his limits, at least for now.

          Closing the door behind him, Martin walked back down the corridor to rejoin his teammates.  He took his time, formulating just how much information Jack would need, and how much would be an unnecessary violation of the trust Randall had just shown him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Randall knew when Martin left, although he couldn't muster the energy to acknowledge it.  His thoughts were dominated by his missing lover.  Much as he tried to focus on the positive, on Mac's strength of will and his character, he also knew there was a limit to how much any one man could take.  Mac had come pretty damned close to losing it the first time Coffin had assaulted him.  Could he recover from a second encounter?  Assuming the bastard let him live…

          Patterson shuddered, recalling Mac's repeated showers after Coffin's first assault.  When he had first come home from the conference, he had brushed the action off, rationalizing that the hot water simply made Mac's battered muscles feel better.  But as the days had passed he'd realized it was more than that, although he hadn't suspected the real reason.

          Once the truth came to light, he'd recognized the action for what it was:  an act of ritual cleansing.  Mac still felt dirty after Coffin's attack and he needed the repeated washings to feel clean.  Sometimes he had showered up to five times a day.

          It had taken months and the help of a damned good therapist before Mac was finally able to cut back on the number of showers.  And it took several more months before he could stand to be touched in any way remotely resembling intimacy.

          The first time Mac had initiated their lovemaking after the assault had been one of the most intensely emotional experiences Randall could ever remember having, and one of the most sexually satisfying.  He had handed complete control over to Mac, letting his lover set the pace.  He wouldn't want to be that passive on a regular basis, but that night it had worked, signaling the final major stage in Mac's overall healing.

          Or so they had thought.

          Knowledge of what Mac was most likely suffering through right now filled Randall with anger and despair.  Hadn't they suffered through enough the first time?

It had taken so long for Mac to recover from Coffin's first attack, and that had only lasted a couple of hours by Mac's accounting.  How much worse would it be this time?

And even if Mac survived it, could their relationship?  He loved Mac, and he had no intention of deserting his partner, but Patterson also knew the struggles they would face.  Would Mac ever be able to trust him again?

          Tears pricked at his eyes and he made no effort to stop or to hide them.  Instead, Randall surrendered to the grief and the fear he could no longer hold at bay, sobbing softly in the empty room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Martin stepped into the ring of desks he shared with his teammates, all of whom were gathered at the large conference table, along with Jack.

          "He okay?" Malone questioned.

          "No, but he's hanging in there," Martin replied, sliding into his usual seat beside Danny.  "I left him in conference room three.  He needs some time to pull himself together," he said, adding, "It, uh, might be a good idea if someone could take him home in a while, so he can get some sleep."

          Jack nodded.  "I agree.  If he'll go.  If not, I'll introduce him to my couch."

          "So, are we sure it's Andrew Coffin who has Swift?" Samantha asked them.

          Martin nodded.  "Yeah, it's definitely Coffin."

          "What did Patterson tell you?" Malone queried, his gaze on Fitzgerald.

          The younger man's head dipped slightly as he said, "The police report on the assault that got Coffin convicted was… incomplete."

          "Coffin raped him," Jack said, his voice softened with compassion.

          Martin's head came up and he met the older man's eyes, confused by how Malone had guessed.

          "I have some more information on Coffin," Vivian interjected, describing for the entire team what she had already told Jack.

          When she was finished, Martin sighed heavily and said, "Coffin attempted the rape, but he couldn't, uh, follow through."

          "Why?" Jack asked bluntly.

          "Couldn't keep it up," was Martin's equally candid reply.

Malone leaned back in his chair, nodding.  "Fits with what the therapists concluded.  All right, we concentrate on Coffin – his background, his friends, you know the drill.  We have to find out where he's taken Swift, and the sooner the better."

The others nodded, Vivian and Sam rising and leaving first.

Jack stood, looking down at Martin.  "Conference room three?"

The younger man nodded, watching as Malone headed off to talk to Patterson.  Next to him, Danny leaned closer and asked, "You want to go grab a real coffee before we hit the computers?"

Martin nodded.  "Sure."

          They rose and headed for the bank of elevators, silence falling between them as they walked to the small coffee shop, ordered their Americanos, and walked back out to the sidewalk and headed back to the Javits building.

"That talk with Patterson…  It shook you up pretty good," Danny said casually.

          Martin glanced over at him, trying to gauge where the man was coming from, and where the conversation might be going.  "Yeah, I guess so," he hedged.

          "Man, that's gotta be tough, you know?  Knowing somebody you love is being held by somebody like that."

          Martin nodded.

          "Swift's a strong man."

          "Coffin's going to kill him if we can't find him."

          "He won't do it right away," Danny said.  "He'll keep him alive until he can work himself up to it."

          Shaking his head, Martin shuddered.  "The world is full of some really sick bastards, you know?"

          "Yeah," Danny agreed, "and we get to find some of them and get them off the streets."

          "Lucky us."

          "Lucky for everyone else," Danny countered.

          "Yeah, you're right," Martin had to agree.  "If Viv's right, and Coffin is gay, he might work himself up to it pretty damn fast."

          "Not if he refuses to admit he's turned on by the thought of another man," Danny stated.

          "Or at least turned on by Swift?"

          "I guess, but that's the last thing he's gonna want to admit," Danny said, feeling slightly uncomfortable that he shared a similar secret with a psycho like Coffin.  "The more he's attracted, the more he hates Swift for the attraction.  Hate isn't gonna help him keep it up."

          "I hope you're right about that," Martin said.  "These guys have been through enough, y'know?"

          Danny nodded.  "Yeah…"

          They continued on in silence, both men sipping on their coffees.  Just before they reached the building, Danny asked, "You ever, uh, thought about what it would be like?  Being with another man, I mean."  _Fuck!_   _Idiot!_   As soon as the words were out of his mouth he almost choked as his throat closed up tight.  What the hell was he thinking?

          Martin's blue eyes rounded with surprise and his cheeks turned a rosy pink, but he nodded slowly.  "Yeah… couple of times, I guess; when I was in high school and college.  You?"

          The last came out softly, tentatively, and Danny almost melted with relief.  "Uh, yeah, me, too.  Once… or twice."  He felt his body begin to tingle all over as he made that revelation – a mixture of excitement and anticipation for something he knew would forever be just outside his reach.  Still, it gave him a warm feeling to know Martin had at least entertained the possibility once in his life.

Then that feeling of warmth faded, replaced by the icy fingers of dread as Danny realized that his new-found knowledge wasn't going to help him hold the erotic dreams he had been having about Martin at bay.  If anything, it would probably make them worse, and he wasn't at all sure he could survive that.

          "You ever, uh, you know… try it?" Martin asked him, emboldened by the fact that Danny had initiated the conversation.

          Taylor choked on the coffee he was trying to swallow.  "What?"

          Martin shook his head, his cheeks a fiery red now.  "Nothing.  Never mind."

          Danny coughed again, then sucked in a deep breath.  Why the hell had Martin asked him _that?_   He didn't dare tell the man the truth.  Did he?

"Once."  _Oh shit.  Why can't I learn to keep my mouth shut?_

          The blue eyes rounded again, wider this time.

          "What?" Danny snapped, feeling more defensive than he had expected.

          "Nothing," Martin replied, quickly looking away from the man.  "I mean there's nothing wrong with it."

          "Look, I was a horny teenager–"

          "Danny, you don't have to explain," Martin said sincerely.  "That question was completely out of line.  I'm sorry.  It's not my business."

          Danny shot him a look, trying to decide if Martin looked relieved or contrite.  "Yeah, well, I'm not ashamed of it or anything.  It just… happened."

          Martin nodded, trying to find a way out of the conversation before he said something he would really regret.  "Sex is kind of like that in general."

          Danny chuckled.  "For you, maybe…  Me, I like to take a more proactive approach."

          "Yeah, well, not all of us have been here long enough to have a little black book like yours."

          "Some never will," Taylor gloated.

          Martin rolled his eyes and sighed, loudly.  Then his expression became more thoughtful.  "You think we'll find Swift in time?"

          "I hope so," Danny replied softly.  "I really hope so."  They reached the building, but before they entered he asked, "You think you could wrangle the computers alone?"

          Martin's brow furrowed slightly.  "Yeah, sure.  Why?"

          "I think I'll head over to Coffin's old precinct, go through his old case files and maybe talk to some of the cops who were assaulted if I can find them."

          "Sounds good.  I'll let Jack know."

          "See ya later."

          Martin watched Danny turn and head for a car, the butterflies in his stomach finally settling.  Did Danny suspect how he felt?

          He shook his head.  No, probably not.  And thank God for that, but knowing Taylor had thought about it, had actually tried it…   _Not now_, he told himself.  There were more important things to worry about.  But when they had Swift back…  He shook his head again.  When they had Swift back maybe he could get his feelings back under control and find some way to channel his desires into something more productive than mooning after a man he could never have.

          He knew Patterson must be feeling like a huge piece of his heart was missing, but right then, it felt to Martin as if a huge part of his own was as well.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**10 a.m.**

**22 hours missing**

 

          When Mac awoke again he groaned as his body began complaining about its recent mistreatment.  He had been hoping to wake and find it had all been a nightmare.  Fate, apparently, couldn't be that kind.

          This time Coffin had him lying naked on his side.  Mac knew the other man was playing a psychological game with him, leaving him as open and as vulnerable to attack as possible.

His hands were cuffed to the wooden slats of an old headboard.

He pulled with all his strength, cursing as the metal bit into his wrists, but the slats held firm.  His feet were also restrained, and the helplessness of his situation only made him try harder to break free.  He jerked on the headboard again, shaking the bed with his frustration.

          "Tsk, tsk, Mac," his captor cautioned from behind him.  "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up."

          Swift turned as far as his awkward position would allow, finding Coffin leaning against the far wall, naked and watching him.  Sneering at the other man, he growled, "Like that really matters to you?  Bastard."

          "Oh, but it does, you know," Coffin taunted him, approaching slowly.  "You see, if you break something, it might distract you from the… pleasures we're about to share.  And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

          "Fuck you!"  Mac turned away, all too aware of his defenseless position.  He fought back a shiver, unsure if it was from an actual chill in the air or just anticipated fear.  He knew that, sooner or later, Coffin's attacks would escalate to the sexual.  _Randall, where the hell are you with the cavalry, man?_

          Feeling the mattress dip as Coffin climbed onto the bed behind him, Mac tried to shift forward, away from the intimate touch, but his bound position left him little room to maneuver.  He bit down on his lower lip to keep any sound from escaping.

          Coffin laughed at his captive's resistance, toying with the man while stroking himself.  The sense of power he got from knowing he finally had Swift at his mercy overwhelmed his control and he shot his load prematurely.

"Shit!" he hissed.

          Mac laughed, truly amused for the first time since awaking in this hellhole.  He knew he risked angering Coffin, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

          "Keep laughing, Swift!" the other man snapped.  "Remember who's cuffed and who has the keys, then we'll see if you still think it's funny!"

          Mac merely shook his head, still laughing helplessly.  Tears streamed down his cheeks.  He knew the laughter was his body's way of channeling his fear and anger, but if it served to humiliate Coffin at the same time, so much the better, and damn the consequences.

          Enraged, Coffin slammed his fist into his victim's back, satisfied when the laughter turned to a pain-filled gasp.  Tangling his fingers in Swift's hair, he jerked the man's head back sharply.  "Who's laughing now, pervert?" he sneered.

          Frustrated beyond caring, Mac spat at Coffin, watching in satisfaction as the globule landed on the other man's cheek.  "At least I don't have to cuff my partner, Andy.  He comes willingly _and_ he comes on time – if you catch my drift?"

          Bellowing in fury, Coffin let fly with his fists, unconcerned where the blows landed.  When that didn't get a reaction from Swift, Coffin looked around for another weapon.  He smirked as his gaze landed on his belt, tossed haphazardly to the floor.  Picking it up by the buckle, he lashed Swift's unprotected back and hip with the leather strip.

          Taken by surprise, Mac choked on a yelp.  He bit his lip in an effort to keep from yelling as Coffin brought the strap down again and again.

          Frustrated by his captive's lack of response, Coffin switched his grip, wrapping the leather end in his palm and swinging the buckle at Swift.  The heavy pewter end hit Swift's flesh with a satisfying _thwap!_   When his victim still didn't react, he swung harder, grinning when Swift finally moaned.

          "You think you're so tough, don't you?" Coffin taunted him, continuing his attack.

          Mac focused on not reacting to the pain.  He knew he could handle a beating, reminding himself that physical suffering was preferable to what he knew Coffin ultimately had in mind for him.

          Coffin grew increasingly irritated by his captive's control.  _Damn Swift anyway!  He even managed to find a way to spoil this!_   Infuriated, the ex-con swung with all his might, grinning as the buckle connected solidly with Swift's side.

          The buckle hit an area already tender from one of Coffin's earlier attacks, and the resulting flash of agony drove the wind from Mac's lungs.  His vision grayed around the edges and he didn't fight it, knowing he would find relief in the darkness.

          Realization that his captive had passed beyond the point of feeling deflated Coffin's rage.  Panting with exertion, he studied his battered, unconscious victim.  An idea began to take form in his mind and the ex-cop smiled as he contemplated Patterson's possible reaction to his plan.

          Walking over to the room's only chair, Coffin lifted a digital video camera out of a duffel bag sitting next to it.  Turning back to Swift, he filmed the unconscious man from a variety of different angles.

Satisfied that he had cataloged the worst of the damage, he picked up his cell phone and punched out the number for the courier service.

          As Coffin packed the flash stick, he regretted that he wouldn't get the opportunity to see Patterson's expression when he received this little gem.  Then he looked back at Mac and reached down, squeezing himself.  He was determined that he would have this man, one way or another.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**2 p.m.**

**26 hours missing**

 

          Martin leaned back in his chair, scowling at the computer screen.  Andrew Coffin was a damn difficult man to track once he had gotten out of prison.

While Coffin had been incarcerated, a lawyer had sold off all of his assets and paid off all of his debts.  He had even severed the former detective's associations with all his credit card companies and other businesses.  Even Coffin's bank accounts had been closed.

Once he had been released, Coffin had checked in with his parole officer – as he was required to – and then he had taken a room at a long term hotel, paying three months rent in advance, in cash.  He hadn't renewed his driver's license, opened a bank account, applied for any credit cards, or been hired by anyone who would have required him to fill out a W-2 form.

Sam had checked the hotel room, finding it empty and untouched.  As far as they could tell, Coffin had never stepped foot inside the room, although a forensics team was going over it, just to be sure.

Several telephone calls later, it also appeared that Coffin had not made any contact with those who might possibly be called his "friends" since his release from prison.

It was as if Andrew Coffin had simply walked out of his PO's office and disappeared, which made perfect sense if he was already planning to abduct Mac Swift.

Martin's phone rang and he picked it up, saying, "Fitzgerald."

" _It's me_ ," came Danny's voice, the sound of it making Martin smile despite himself.

"Hey, Danny.  What's up?"

" _I'm still at Coffin's old precinct.  A package just arrived by courier service.  It's for Patterson_."

"Another flash stick?"

" _Could be.  Jack around?  I didn't want to call his office if Patterson was in there sleeping_."

"Considerate of you."

" _I have my moments_."

"Hold on."

Martin stood at his desk and turned to check Jack's office.  Malone was seated at his desk, reading something.  As if sensing Martin's gaze, he glanced up, meeting Martin's gaze.  He gestured for Jack to join him and, a moment later, Malone was standing next to him, asking, "What's going on?"

          "A package was delivered to the precinct for Patterson," Martin explained.  "Danny's there.  He has it."

          Jack thought for a moment, then nodded and said, "Have him bag it and bring it over."

          Martin passed the instructions along, watching as Jack returned to his office to wake Patterson, who had been sleeping on the agent's sofa.

          _"I have a bad feeling about this one,"_ Danny said.

          "Yeah, I know what you mean," Martin replied.

          _"I'll be there as soon as I can."_

          "Be careful," Martin said, regretting it and wondering why as soon as the words were past his lips.  He heard Danny chuckle softly.

          _"Gee, Martin, I didn't know you cared,"_ he teased.

          _More than you know, you sonuvabitch_.  "Yeah, yeah," he said out loud and hung up.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          An hour later Jack, Martin, Danny and Randall were gathered around a computer in one of the FBI's media labs, a technician having finished examining the flash stick before he accessed it, the images immediately beginning to play.

          Randall sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the beaten body of his lover lying on the same bed as before.  But the bruises and abrasions didn't unnerve him nearly as much as the way Swift was secured to the old bed, naked and vulnerable.  Coffin could do whatever he wanted to the man, whenever he wanted.  And even if it was obvious that Mac had been fighting back, there was no way he could stop Coffin.

          He felt his heart begin to race and he tried to slow his breathing, but it was impossible.  By the time the screen went blank, he was shaking all over and his knees were weak.  Jumping slightly when he felt someone's fingers close around his upper arm, he looked up, finding Martin standing next to him, a concerned expression on his face.

          "Let's go get some air, okay?" Fitzgerald suggested.

          Randall nodded, allowing the agent to guide him out of the lab and to a balcony off the Missing Persons office area.  He sucked in several deep breaths, hoping he could keep his stomach from rebelling again.  Martin stood at his side, close enough to offer his encouragement and be of help, but not so near as to crowd him.  He had to admire the agent's people skills.

          "I'm fine," Randall said finally, taking a step forward so he could lean on the railing.  "I just wish there was something I could do, y'know?"

          "Yeah, I do."

          Jack stepped outside to join them, his gaze catching Martin's.  The younger man gave Patterson's shoulder a supportive squeeze and went back inside, leaving the detective with Malone, who stepped up to take Fitzgerald's place.

          "Randall, you need to go home and get some sleep.  We're doing everything we can here."

          Patterson turned, leaning back against the railing, grateful for the physical support.  "I'm fine.  I'll stay."

          "You need to get some sleep."

          "Hell, Malone, I'm a cop, I'm used to going for long hours with no sleep."

          That brought a small smile to the agent's lips.  "Waiting isn't going to help him, and if you end up making yourself–"

          "Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you'd be able to go home and get some sleep if that was your spouse in Mac's place?"

          Malone thought for a moment and then huffed out a sigh through his nose.  "No.  I wouldn't."

          "And neither can I, so don't ask me again, okay?"

          Jack ran his hand over his hair.  "Okay.  How about a compromise?  The conference room you and Martin used, I'll have a cot brought up.  It's yours for the duration, all right?"

          Patterson nodded.  "Thanks."

          "Just do me a favor and actually use the damn thing, all right?"

          Patterson nodded.  "Probably be more comfortable than that couch in your office."

          "Probably," Jack replied dryly, then asked, "You want to swap?"

          "No way," Randall said, allowing a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth.  "But thanks anyway."

          Jack smiled again.  "Well, I had to try."  A rumble from his stomach reminded him it had been hours since he had eaten breakfast.  And he had a feeling the man standing next to him hadn't eaten in an even longer time.

          He knew a place where they could get some good food and still have some privacy.  All he had to do was get his companion to agree to come with him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It actually took less bullying than Jack had expected; half an hour later they walked into Gino's Café.  It was a small Italian restaurant about a block from the Javits Building.

          Given the mid-afternoon hour they had their choice of seats, so Jack chose a corner booth in the back.  A waiter soon brought them two glasses of water and two menus, and then left them to make their choices.

          While they looked over their choices, Malone casually asked, "So, how'd you and Mac meet, anyway?"

          "Our dads knew each other.  Both cops.  They were friends, but they didn't see each other too often.  My dad worked days, Mac's dad worked nights."  Randall took a sip of the water.  "My mom split not too long after I was born, so Dad had his hands full, didn't really have time to socialize.

"When I was thirteen he was killed in a grocery store holdup.  Wrong place, wrong time, the cops said."

          "I'm sorry.  That had to be tough."  Jack's tone was sympathetic.

          "Yeah," Patterson said, nodding.  "Yeah, it was.  I went to live with my grandma for a while, but she died when I was fifteen.  Mike had come to Dad's funeral and he'd kept in touch with Grams, so he knew about her death… knew I didn't have anyone else to take me in."

          The waiter came and took their orders, topping off their water glasses at the same time.

          Once the man had left, Jack said, "Not too many people would do something like that, even for a friend.  That's a pretty big responsibility."

          "Tell me about it," Randall said, nodding his agreement.  "Especially because Mike had his own troubles…  His wife had died the year before, cirrhosis of the liver."

          "So did you and Mac hit it off from the start?"

          "Pretty much.  We shared a room the whole time I lived with them."  The lieutenant chuckled at a private memory.  Seeing Jack's questioning look, he shook his head.  "Mike probably would have had a stroke if he ever knew just _how_ well we got along."

          The agent didn't pretend to misunderstand and he grinned.  "You guys started early, I gather?"

          "Yeah, guess we figured it was just kids messing around, that we'd grow out it, y'know?"  Randall shrugged.  "I went to college, Mac went into the Navy and that ended it.  Or so we thought."

          "You didn't pick up where you left off when he came home?"

          Patterson shook his head.  "The way Mac played it I might as well have dreamed our time together."

          "What changed?"

          "About a year after Mac left the Force he took this case…  High profile men were being seduced by this guy who then threatened to out them if they didn't pay the blackmail he demanded."  Randall grimaced.  "One of his victims committed suicide."

          "I remember that case," Jack said, nodding.  "Carlo Montegro, right?  Guy was a real bastard."

          "Yeah, that's the one.  Mac brought him in.  He set up a meet with Montegro and let the guy hit on him, then took him down."

          The arrival of their food temporarily interrupted their conversation.  Jack dug into his meal, pleased to see that his companion was at least taking a few bites here and there.

          "I gather the nature of the case stirred up the memories?"

          "Yeah," Randall said, "for both of us.  Turns out Mac wasn't as opposed to us getting together as he'd wanted me to think.  He was… scared, I guess."

          "Hard to imagine a man like Swift being afraid of much of anything," Jack said, surprised.

          "Don't let the image fool you, man.  Mac's no robot.  The job worried him.  If we were caught, it could've been trouble since we were partners."  Pushing his plate aside, Randall leaned back in the booth.  "It wasn't just the job, though.  It was his dad he was worried about the most."

          "Did Mike Swift ever find out you guys were together?"

          "Yeah, he did.  I got shot about six months after Mac and I got serious and for a while they weren't sure if I'd make it."  The lieutenant reached up and absently rubbed his chest.  "Mac had a hard time holding it together and his dad saw something he couldn't read any other way."

          "That must have been rough.  Men of his generation aren't usually too accepting."

          "I honestly think if we'd come out to him right away he wouldn't have accepted it," Randall agreed.  "But this way he saw how much Mac loved me, how worried he was about me.  And once I was awake and aware, he realized it went both ways.  I think that made it a little easier for him.  I like to think that it did, at least."

          Jack cleared his throat.  "I, uh, read in the file that Mac's father died in the 9-11 attacks.  I'm sorry.  That must have been hard for you both."

          "You have no idea just how hard."  Patterson huffed out a breath.  "See, I knew Mac was supposed to be in the second tower at the time of the attacks.  He had a meeting with his attorney and some LogiCool representatives.  I couldn't get through to him.  And then Mike–"  He blinked rapidly.  "Sorry."

          "I didn't realize.  I'm sorry."  Jack's regret was genuine.  Paper facts sometimes left out the most important details.

          "Mac was missing until the following afternoon.  A friend of a friend recognized him at one of the aid stations and got word to me.  I got to him as soon as I could after that."  He shook his head.  "It took me a long time until I could let him out of my sight again."

          "Can't say I blame you.  Had you already decided to get married before that, or was it a result of everything that happened?"  Finished with his food, Jack pushed his plate to the side as well.

          "We'd talked about it in kind of abstract ways.  We knew we wanted to be together for the long haul, so it didn't really seem all that important to be formal about it."  Randall paused and shrugged.  "9-11 changed all that."

          "I'm not surprised."  The senior agent had his own ghosts from that time.

          Their waiter came and took the plates, returning with two cups coffee.  Randall waved his away, but Jack accepted his.

          "What can you tell me about Coffin personally?" Jack asked the man, knowing it was time to shift the conversation away from the past.

          Patterson considered the question for several moments, then shrugged.  "He's always been an oddball, a loner.  If he had any friends I never heard him mention them; same for any girlfriends."

          "And you don't know why he singled Mac out for his harassment?"  The agent sipped on his coffee, eyeing Randall calmly.  "No reason you can think of for Coffin to harbor Mac ill-will?"

          "No.  They were always like dynamite and a spark.  Put 'em in the same room and Coffin would be after Mac like a pit bull."  Randall shook his head.  "It never failed."

          "Was Coffin always the instigator?"

          "Mac wouldn't start it, but he wouldn't walk away either.  Most of the time, when Mike was alive, he'd step in break it up between them.  Coffin knew not to mess with the Sarge."

          Jack finished his cup, signaling the waiter for more.

          "Mac's file also mentioned that he was able to identify Coffin as his attacker, months after the attack."  He looked at the younger man.  "How did that come about?"

          "Whew…"  Randall blew out an explosive breath.  "That's a story in and of itself."

          "Tell me," Malone urged.

          "Even after he was off the Force it wasn't unusual to see Mac around the precinct.  He still had friends there, and his dad worked there.  Coffin hated it.  He would've liked to have Mac permanently banned."  Patterson scoffed at the idea.  "Anyway, one day about six months after the attack Mac comes in near the end of my shift.  We were headed out to dinner.  I had to update Captain Lucinder on a case, so Mac waited for me at my desk.  I come back not ten minutes later and he's gone like a ghost.  No one knew where he went, only that he'd gone tearing out of there after a run-in with Coffin."

          "Did Mac say anything to anyone at the time?  Give any indication about what had set him off?"

          "No.  From what I got from his dad and a couple of the other detectives, Coffin got into Mac's face about being in the precinct.  Suddenly, Mac turned green and just bolted.  I called the loft, his cell and every place I could think of with no luck."  Randall sighed, clearly disturbed by the memory.  "I drove to the loft, checked his dad's house, even checked with his counselor to see if he might have turned up there.  No luck."  The lieutenant took a deep breath and released it slowly.  "Talking about this… it's hard, y'know?  Even after all this time."

          Malone nodded.  He could see the strain in the man's expression, and hear it in his voice.

          "I'm sorry.  I wouldn't ask, except–"

          "Forget it," Patterson said, waving aside the apology.  "It's the only way we're going to get close to Coffin.  I know that."

          "Tell me how you finally found Mac."

          "I called his cell phone again.  This time he answered.  He apologized for worryin' me and gave me an address where to meet him.  When I got there I saw it was an abandoned warehouse.  I saw Mac's Land Rover so I knew this was the right place.  As I got closer to the building it hit me.  This was where Mac had been assaulted."  He shook his head.  "I wanted to be sick.  No way did I want to be there, and I damned sure didn't want Mac there either.  I walked inside, not knowing what to expect… called Mac's name.  He answered and stepped out from where he'd been waiting for me.  He looked… shell-shocked is the only word that comes to mind."

          "I'm not surprised," Jack commented.  "All those months, he thought he'd dealt with it, put it behind him, and out of the blue comes this?"

          "Exactly.  He apologized again for taking off like that, then finally said he felt sure he knew who his attacker was.  I couldn't believe it.  Like you said, after all these months?"  Randall sighed.  "So I asked him what made him so sure.  He reminded me that he'd bitten the perp's hand, hard enough to draw blood; probably left a scar.  While he was waiting for me he'd seen a similar scar.  I tried to think of who we'd brought in that Mac had seen, but there wasn't anyone.  When he saw I wasn't making the connection he told me it was Coffin."

          Randall had to stop to clear his voice.  Knowing he couldn't go on just yet, he signaled to the waiter, asking for a cup of coffee.  Looking over at Jack, he said, "I'll be right back."  He slid out of the booth and headed for the men's room.

          Jack frowned, noting the tired slump of the other man's shoulders as he walked away.  He knew Patterson needed time to regroup.  He was impressed by the man's handling of this so far, but he knew Patterson was reaching his limits.  The longer his partner remained missing, the greater the stress.

          Randall returned to his seat a few minutes later and the waiter brought a fresh cup of coffee over for him.  After stirring in some sugar and cream, Randall continued his story.

          "I have to tell you, when Mac identified Coffin as his attacker I didn't believe him at first.  But he was so sure, and it made sense.  We'd never been able to catch the guy because he'd been under our noses the whole time.  The question then became, how did we prove it?"

          "Tricky, since there was no way he was going to confess to it."

          "Exactly.  I knew I had to keep Mac out of it.  That it had to be by the book.  And I can tell you, my partner's always had a tendency to throw out the rules when it suits him."

          Malone grinned.  "Yeah, I got that from reading his file."

          "I'm not surprised."  Randall grimaced.  "Anyway, I followed Coffin to lunch one day, stayed out of sight until he left, then I took his straw before the busboy cleaned up."

          The agent nodded.  "That was a good idea – public domain."

          "It was a perfect match to the sample left at the crime scene," Randall stated.  "Coffin's attorney couldn't get it thrown out in court and the jury convicted him without a second thought."

          Jack toyed with his cup, trying to decide how to break his news to Patterson.  Finally, he asked, "Did you know that Mac probably wasn't Coffin's only victim?"

          The younger man's eyes widened with surprise. "Say what?  How did you find that out?"

          "One of my agents learned that IAB was investigating Coffin for at least six other suspicious assaults on other officers.  All of them were male."  Jack glanced at the lieutenant, taking in his stunned expression.  "And all of them were gay, or rumored to be gay."

          "Son-of-a-bitch!" Randall swore viciously.  "Why didn't this come out at the trial?"

          "My guess is that IAB didn't have enough solid evidence or witnesses or both.  And it's possible that the other men involved weren't willing to testify or, like Mac, they weren't able to identify their attacker," Jack speculated.  "I'd guess the judge decided the accusations were too inflammatory to be allowed into testimony at the trial."

          "Goddamn!  I knew I should've killed that bastard when Mac told me it was him," Patterson growled.

          "And if you had?  Where would that leave Mac?" Jack argued.  "He wouldn't want you in jail, particularly not over a slimeball like Coffin."

          Randall shook his head.  To him the answer was obvious.  "At least Coffin wouldn't have been alive to pull this sick shit again.  I don't think–"  He had to stop to compose himself.  "I just don't know if we can get through this again."

          "Randall, you can't think like that," Malone warned him.  "You and Mac have a strong relationship.  Don't sell it short.  Don't sell _yourself_ short.  There's too much at stake here, not the least of which is Coffin hoping that this will tear you apart."

          "I just wish I knew _why_ he had it in for us so bad," Randall said and sighed.

          "I was wondering about that too and I think we've found the answer," Jack responded.  "He's a repressed homosexual."

          "What?"  Patterson blinked, shocked at the thought.  "Coffin?"

          Malone nodded.  "It seems that the DA and his defense attorney both had Coffin evaluated before his trial.  That was the conclusion both psychologists reached.  Coffin can't act on his desires without feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and self-loathing, which goes a good way to explaining why he can't sustain an erection long enough to perform.  But that doesn't erase his need."

          "Damn."  Patterson shook his head.  "Just when I think this nightmare can't possibly get any worse, it does."

          Jack nodded sympathetically.  "Unfortunately, I agree.  He's definitely on a short fuse.  The sooner we find them, the better."  He paused a moment.  "Think, Randall, where would he take Mac?  Where _could_ he take him?"

          "I don't know!" the younger man snapped.  "You think I'd be sitting here shooting the shit with you if I had a clue, man?"

          "Try harder!" the agent demanded harshly.  "It's probably someplace that has some meaning for you or Mac, or both of you."

          Randall's face went gray.  "It couldn't be that obvious–"

          "What?"

          "The warehouse…?"  The green eyes were shadowed.

          Jack shook his head.  "We had it checked.  Nothing.  We've got someone keeping an eye on it, just in case he decides to take Swift back."

          Sliding out of the booth, Randall pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty on the table.  "The loft is the only other place, and you saw for yourself Mac's not there."

          "And you don't recognize that hotel room?"

          "No, man, it's not someplace that means a thing to me or to Mac."

          "Keep thinking, Randall."

          "That's all I can do," the man replied.

          They returned to the Javits Building in silence, re-joining the rest of Jack's team.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**6 p.m.**

**30 hours missing**

 

          Martin pushed back from his desk, spinning around in his chair at the same time.  "I've got something," he announced.

          The other agents, each of whom had been working on some lead of their own, all looked up.

          "Both flash sticks were part of a batch that was sent to a Staples store in Harlem," Martin told them.

          Jack nodded.  "You and Danny take a ride over there, see if anyone remembers seeing Coffin."

          Danny stood and grabbed his suit coat, pulling it on.  It was just as well.  He wasn't having any luck tracking down any other attacks on police personnel since Coffin's release from prison.  He watched Martin pull on his own jacket and silently lamented that they had to wear suits at work.  After watching the man at the gym he had decided that it was unfair to hide such a beautiful body under so many layers of clothes.

          "I'd like to go with them," Patterson said, starting to stand.

          "No," Jack replied, the tone prompting the detective to drop back into his chair, although he looked like he was ready to argue.

          Danny pressed his hand to Martin's back and hurried him out before that could happen.

          In the elevator, Martin leaned back against the rear wall and shook his head.

Danny nodded.  "It's always harder when you've got the family hanging around."

          "Yeah," Martin breathed.  "Makes me a lot more aware of just how… slow an investigation can be; how tedious."

          "That's why we don't usually let the family hang out."

          "Can't be any easier for them, waiting at home for us to show up with the news – good or bad," Martin countered as the door slid open and they stepped out and headed for the entrance to the parking garage.

          "No, I guess not," Danny agreed.  He wanted to reach out and give the man's shoulder a squeeze, but he didn't dare.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Jack–" Patterson said, only to be cut off before he could get started.

          "Randall, I appreciate that you want to help us, but this is a federal investigation and I don't see any reason why we should hand Coffin's defense attorneys any future ammunition, do you?"

          The police lieutenant sighed and shook his head, then reached up to rub his fingers over his eyes.  "No.  No, you're right."

          "We're going to find him," Sam told Patterson softly.

          "In time, Agent Spade?" Patterson countered a little angrily.

          "We hope so," Vivian answered for her.

          Randall sagged back in his chair, knowing that he was getting mad at the wrong people.  "Sorry."

          "Hang in there," Sam told him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

A little less than an hour later, Martin pulled into the parking lot of the Harlem Staples on West 125th Street, finding an empty spot near the entrance.  They climbed out and entered the office supply store, heading straight to the first open clerk they spotted.

"Special Agent Taylor, FBI," Danny said, showing a young woman his identification.  "Do you recognize this man?" he asked her, showing her a picture of Andrew Coffin.

"Uh, no, I don't think so," she said, frowning and shifting from foot to foot self-consciously.

Four more clerks told them the same thing, and then they queried Timothy Barrett.  "Yeah, sure," the skinny, acne-scarred teen said, "I remember this guy.  He bought four flash sticks."

"You remember when?" Danny asked the young man a little surprised that he would remember something like that in such detail.

Timothy thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, "I don't know.  Three, maybe four days ago, I guess?"

"And you're sure this was the man," Martin stated, reaching out to tap the photo the kid was still holding.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure.  I thought it was kinda strange, y'know, someone buying four sticks at one time.  You know, because you can use 'em over and over.  I told the guy he could use more 'em once, and he got pretty pissed about it, told me to mind my own damn business."  He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.  "Hey, no problem, man.  I was just trying to help the guy out, y'know?  I mean, those things aren't cheap, y'know."

The two agents nodded.

"You have internal surveillance in the store?" Martin asked him, glancing up to see if he could spot the cameras that were monitoring the cash registers.

"Yeah, but you'll have to talk to the store manager 'bout that," Timothy said.

"How about external cameras?" Danny inquired.

The boy shrugged.  "I don't know."

"All right," Martin replied.  "We appreciate your help."  He took down the kid's contact information and then he and Danny went in search of the store manager.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Less than a half-hour later the two agents had the internal surveillance tape for the time the flash sticks had been purchased.  The manager had been able to tell them that the four memory sticks, including the two they already had in hand, had been sold at 3:17 p.m., four days prior.  The customer had paid cash for them.

Unfortunately, the store did not have external security cameras.

As they headed back to their car, Danny stopped, his head cocking to the side.

"Something wrong?" Martin asked him, frowning slightly.

"What does that look like to you?" Taylor asked, nodding to a building across the parking lot from the Staples store.

Martin turned and looked.  "Looks like external security cameras to me," he said, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"Looks like a way to put Coffin in this parking lot to me," Taylor added, slapping Martin on the back and heading across the lot, Fitzgerald right behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**11 p.m.**

**35 hours missing**

 

          Back at the Javits Federal Building, Martin and Danny had watched while one of their technicians worked on the tapes they had brought back from Harlem.  The Staples security tape was first, the tech quickly finding the frames that showed Coffin standing at one of the registers, buying the four memory sticks.

          The angle the camera was set at meant that they could also watch Coffin step up to the doors, but there nothing to indicate where he had gone after he exited the store.

          They turned to the second tape where each frame was actually made up of images from four different cameras, each positioned outside to provide complete coverage of the entire external façade of the bank building.  Two of those angles included small sections of the parking lot.

          It was painstaking work, checking each frame in the hopes that Coffin had been parked in one of the four monitored areas, but their hard work paid off several hours later.

          "Bingo!" Danny crowed, a victorious grin on his lips as he pointed to the captured image of Coffin climbing out of a silver Nissan Altima.

          Martin leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.  "Can you get the license plate?" he asked the technician.

          "I think so," he replied.  "Probably just a partial, though.  Give me about an hour and I'll see what I can do."

          The two agents exchanged glances, then rose and left the man to work his magic on the image.

          They went down and fixed themselves some fresh coffee in the break room, each drinking a cup before walking down to their office to find that Sam and Vivian had headed home to grab a few hours of sleep.  Jack was still in his office, as was Randall Patterson, sitting on Malone's couch and staring off into space as he waited for word on his lover.

          They were about to head over to tell the two men what they had found when the technician caught them, shoving a page into Danny's hand.  "That's the best I'll be able to do," he said.  "It's just a partial, but it might be enough."

          "Thanks, Doug," Danny said, looking down at the fuzzy but discernable letters.  He turned and headed straight for his desk and his computer.  He connected into the correct database, putting in what information they had and waited.  Less than a minute later they had a list of eleven possible vehicles.

          Danny printed two copies of the list and handed one to Martin.  "I'll start from the top."

          Fitzgerald nodded, sitting down to start from the bottom.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1:30 a.m.**

**37 and a half hours missing**

 

          Jack saw the activity in the outer office and stood.  He glanced over at Patterson, but the man looked like he was lost in his own thoughts and there was no use raising his hopes unless they had something concrete to offer him.  Without comment, he left his office, going out to see what his agents had turned up.

          "Anything?" he asked when he reached Danny's desk.

          "Got a shot of Coffin buying the flash sticks, and another of him in the Staples' parking lot thanks to a security camera on a neighboring bank building," Danny explained.  "We have the car and a partial plate number.  Eleven hits.  We're narrowing them down now."

          Martin covered the receiver of the phone with his hand and said, "I think I have it – discount car rental agency.  A silver Nissan Altima was leased for two weeks.  The man who took it paid with cash.  The guy's looking up the contract now."  The sound of a voice at the other end of the line snapped Martin's attention back to the call.  "What…?  All right.  Thanks."  He scribbled something down and then hung up and glanced up at Jack.  "The man who rented the car said his name was Michael Swift.  He had a New York driver's license and a major credit card, a Visa, in the same name."

          "That's not possible."

          The agents turned to look at Patterson, who was standing next to the conference table.

"But isn't that–?" Danny started to ask.

          Randall interrupted Taylor, saying, "Sergeant Michael Swift was Mac's father.  He died on September eleventh, in Tower number two.  That's Coffin, playing with my head…  Goddamn fucking bastard."

          "Send out an alert on the car.  Maybe we'll get lucky and NYPD can find it," Jack said.

          Patterson shook his head.  "He's changed the plate by now."

          "Maybe, maybe not," Malone replied.  "But it's the best we have at the moment."

          Randall sighed heavily.  "Yeah, I know."  And that was why he was scared to death.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**6 a.m.**

**42 hours missing**

 

          The missing persons unit sat around the conference table, minus Vivian, who was running down a lead of her own.

          "According to the local police, a Silver Nissan Altima – same year as the one rented by 'Michael Swift' – was reported stolen near Marcus Garvey Memorial Park a couple of hours after Coffin purchased the memory sticks.  It had been parked in a public lot while Alison Nancy went to work at a local dentist's office.  When she came out to go home, she discovered it was missing and called the police," Sam reported.

          "And we have another plate that matches the portion of the license we can see on the surveillance photos that's from a forest green Altima, two years older," Martin added.  "It was reported missing shortly after six p.m. on the same day.  Scott Harris is a paralegal who works for a firm about four blocks away from the Staples."

          "Like I told you, he'll have changed the plates by now, maybe the car, too," Patterson said.

          "And another plate from a newer black Altima belonging to Allan Edwards, from Queens, was also reported stolen.  He works at the Guggenheim and discovered his license plate was missing three days ago.  He reported it, but nothing turned up," Danny added.

          "Coffin knows plenty of people who could have helped him modify a stolen license," Patterson offered.

          "And there's nothing to tie Coffin to any of these people or locations?" Malone asked his agents.

          "No," Martin replied.

          "Nothing," Sam agreed.

          Danny just shook his head.

          Three more dead ends.  Randall sighed heavily, feeling Mac slipping away from him.

          Malone thought for a moment and then asked, "What was the complete plate number on the rental?"

          Martin told him.

          He stood and walked to the white board, writing down the plate number.  "Okay, this is the rental plate.  Give me the whole plate number for the stolen Altima."

          Danny read it off to him and Jack wrote those down as well.

          "And the two stolen plates?" Jack asked them.

          Martin supplied those, and Jack jotted them down.  He took a step back and they all studied the four sets of three letters and three identical numbers.

          "Does the number 119 mean anything to you?" Malone asked Patterson, who shook his head.

          Viv swept into the room.  "I've got something," she said, handing a file folder to Jack and remaining on her feet.  "The same credit card Coffin used to rent the car was also used to rent a room at a motel in Washington Heights."

          "Let's go," Jack snapped.  But when he saw Sam stand, he held up his hand.  "Stay here," he told her.  "See what you can do with these plates."

          She frowned, but nodded, knowing her still-healing leg wasn't up any fieldwork.  But that didn't mean she didn't wish she was going with them.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**7 a.m.**

**43 hours missing**

          Randall's gut tightened as they pulled into the small parking lot adjacent to the motel.  From the outside it looked like any other low-rate, cheap establishment.

          "There's the car," Viv said, pointing to the late model silver Nissan Altima.

          Jack parked the sedan and got out, followed by Randall and Vivian.  He watched as Danny and Martin climbed out of a second vehicle and approached them.

          Once everyone had gathered, Malone gave them his instructions.  "Viv, you and I will go in first.  Martin, you take the rear."  The rookie agent nodded, moving off in the direction of the alley.  "Danny, you and Randall cover the desk clerk.  Make sure he doesn't alert Coffin.  And keep an eye on the Altima."

          Danny nodded, but Randall immediately protested.

          "Wait a damned minute!  I'm not going to wait–"

          Jack's expression turned stony.  "We've had this discussion already, _Lieutenant_.  I am not going to give Coffin or his attorney the chance to cry foul by involving you any more than you already are.  Your presence here is a courtesy.  Don't make me regret extending it."

          Patterson didn't look happy, but he knew Malone was in no mood to be pushed.  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he closed his mouth and nodded.

          Satisfied that he had made his point, Jack keyed the radio transmitter.  "Martin, are you in position?"

          "Affirmative," Fitzgerald answered.

          "All right, let's do this."  Jack led the way into the motel lobby.

          The duty clerk looked up, surprised to see such well-dressed guests.  Malone showed him his identification.

It didn't take much persuasion for him to answer Vivian's questions.  Yes, a man matching Coffin's description had checked in under the name Michael Swift.  Yes, he paid by credit card.  After checking their identification, he handed over the duplicate key to Room 119 without hesitation.

          Randall fidgeted as he watched Vivian and Jack jogging up the dimly lit staircase.  He glanced over at Taylor, who was keeping an eye on the clerk and the Altima in the parking lot.  The agent didn't look any happier about being left behind than he was.

          "Mr. Swift have any visitors?" Danny asked the clerk in order to pass the time.

          "How should I know?" the man replied, trying his best to ignore the two men.

          "I have a feeling you know just about everything that goes on around here," Danny said, giving he man a knowing look.  "Don't you?"

          "Hey, I can't keep track of everybody who comes and goes around here," the man argued.  "We got a lot of guests, y'know."

          Danny's radio transmitted Jack's all-clear signal before he could follow up with the man.  And Patterson was gone before he could really even process his superior's words.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Danny followed the lieutenant at a slightly slower pace.  Given Jack's tone of voice, he didn't think there was any need to hurry.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jack looked up from his inspection of the television when Randall burst into the room.  "It's definitely the room we've seen on the videos, but Coffin's long gone."

          "Maybe not so 'long,'" Vivian noted, pulling back the rumpled bedspread and top sheet to reveal what was underneath.

          Randall grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut at the sight of the fresh blood staining the bottom sheet.  "Son-of-a-bitch," he hissed, knowing that was Mac's blood.

          Keying his radio, Jack requested a forensics unit to process the room.  He also instructed Martin to keep a watch on the Altima until their arrival as well.

Turning back to Randall, he grasped the man's arm, steering him toward the door.  Danny joined him, his own expression mirroring his disgust with the scene.

          "Come on, let's wait downstairs," Malone suggested.  To his great relief, Patterson didn't argue, but then the detective would have to know that they didn't want to destroy any evidence that might be there to be collected.

They stepped into the hallway, Malone turning back to say to Viv, "Wait here for Forensics.  Make sure they comb this place twice and give it top priority."

          She nodded, watching Jack and Danny guide Patterson away.  With a soft sigh she surveyed the hotel room, taking note of the places she thought Forensics should focus their attention.

She knew she couldn't even begin to imagine what Patterson was going through right now – knowing the kind of hell his lover had to be enduring.  But he was holding up well.

According to the files she'd read, he and Swift were alone.  Neither man had any family left except each other.  She sent up a fervent prayer that, if this turned out as badly as she feared it might, Patterson had someone who could help him cope.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**10 a.m.**

**46 hours missing**

 

          Jack and Martin watched as Patterson paced restlessly around Conference Room Three.  Both agents knew that the man had to be running on fumes, but he was unable to sit still for very long.

Martin turned his attention back to the files sitting open in front of him, hoping to find something that would give them a clue, but there was nothing.  Not that it really surprised him.  Coffin was a cop, a detective, and he's been planning this for years.  He'd learned all the ways to cover his tracks, and he'd used them.

"Think, Randall," Malone grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.  "You worked with Coffin for years.  There has to be someone he was close to, someplace special that he mentioned."

          "Don't you think if I knew something, I would've said so already?" the lieutenant snapped, raking his fingers through his braids.  "We've been over this."

          "And we'll go over it again, and again, and again," Jack insisted.  "We're missing something.  Coffin can't just disappear.  It's not in his nature.  He's got a trophy.  He wants us to find him with it."

          Randall balled his fists and had to consciously remind himself that Malone was only trying to jog his memory.  He slowly started to count to ten, but a sharp rap on the door stopped him at four.

          "Come!" Malone snapped.

          Danny walked in with a manila folder that he handed to Jack.  "Forensics report on the motel room," he said, carefully not looking at Patterson as he did.

          Jack studied the results with a frown.

          "What is it?" Randall asked him, his expression tense.

          "Blood on the sheets is a match for Mac's.  And there were pubic hairs found from two separate males, but no trace of semen."  Jack handed the file back to Danny.  "That's something at least."

          "You think so, huh?"  The detective shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line of worry.  "Come on, Malone, you know as well as I do that Coffin's a sick bastard.  There's more than one way to rape somebody."

          Martin winced, hearing the break in Patterson's voice as he spoke those last words.  God, this case was a nightmare, with no end in sight.  He fought back a shudder, wishing he could go take a shower to wash off the shadow Coffin cast over all of them.  His eyes met Danny's briefly, and he thought his teammate might be thinking something similar.

          God he wished he could look forward to going home with Danny when this was over.  All he wanted right now was to climb into bed with the man and hold him close.

          Another knock sounded on the door and this time Vivian walked in carrying a videocassette tape.  She glanced at Patterson as she handed it over to Jack.  "Another memory stick was delivered to Patterson's precinct earlier this morning," she informed them.  "One of your detectives rushed it right over.  I had the lab make us a copy; they're working on the original now."

          Walking over to the audio/visual cart, Jack turned on the television and VCR, then inserted the tape.  After a few moments of blue screen, images of the run-down motel room they had seen appeared on the screen.  The camera panned around the room, then focused on the bed and its lone occupant.

          Randall sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Mac.  The man had bruises on top of bruises, and one eye had swelled shut.  There were also various cuts and scrapes decorating his face, torso, and legs.

          The image paused, and when it began to play again a few seconds later, Patterson swore viciously.  The camera continued to record what was happening on the bed.  "Son-of-a- _bitch!_ " he growled, watching as Coffin approached his helpless captive.

          The ex-con climbed onto bed behind Swift, looking straight into the camera and smiling wolfishly.  "Missing your boy-toy, Patterson?  Hmm?" he taunted the detective.  "Well, don't worry.  You'll get him back… sooner or later.  But I can assure you, _Rand_ … he won't be in the same condition."

          Just before the screen went to blue again, they caught a brief glimpse of Coffin's hands beginning to move over Swift's body.

          With a yell of pure rage, Patterson turned, slamming his fist into the nearest wall.

          Jack reached him first, grasping Randall's arm and wincing when he saw the man's bleeding knuckles.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and tied it around Randall's hand.

          "Damn it," the detective hissed.  "Not one of my better moves…"

          "You're right about that," Jack agreed with him.  Turning to Martin, he said softly, "Take him to get this hand looked at.  And make sure it's x-rayed; I wouldn't be too surprised if he broke something."

          Fitzgerald nodded.  And to his great relief, Randall went with him without a protest.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Javits Building had a small but well-equipped medical clinic on the seventh floor, and it was here Martin steered his charge.

Randall hadn't said one word since they had left the conference room.

          Martin told the receptionist what they needed, and then watched as Patterson awkwardly handed over his insurance information to her.

          Once the paperwork was filled out, they were shown to a treatment room and Patterson given a baggie of ice chips to hold over his knuckles.

In the room, Martin helped Patterson ease his jacket off and then rolled up the man's sleeve to just below his elbow.  He sat down to wait for a technician to come in to do the x-ray, watching the detective, but Patterson seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and who could blame him?  A nurse arrived a few minutes later to clean the man's knuckles, then she handed him back the bag of ice chips.

          Several more minutes passed before another young woman arrived and took the x-ray.  When she was done, she told them," You can just wait in here.  The doctor will be in to see you shortly," before she left.

          The silence stretched on for a while before Martin finally cleared his throat and asked Patterson, "You mind a question?"

          "Huh?" Randall relied, blinking to clear away the images of Mac that had been haunting him.

          "You mind a question – personal one?" the agent asked again.

          "Uh, sure, yeah," Patterson said, still a little distracted.

          Martin drew a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a long sigh before he asked, "If you'd told Swift you were interested, in a relationship, and he hadn't been, do you think your friendship would have survived it?"

          Patterson huffed out a breath.  "Yeah, I think so.  I mean, we go back a long time, you know?  Our friendship is strong, and the intimacy…  It's good, don't get me wrong, but it's… extra, I guess."

          Martin nodded, knowing his cheeks were a little flushed.  What in the world did he think he was doing?  The man's lover was missing, being tortured, and here he was, asking the man to play Dear Abby!  What in the world was he thinking?

          Randall's brow furrowed slightly.  "You, uh… you thinking about asking somebody about a relationship?  A man?"

          Martin looked up at that, his mouth opening, but he didn't know what to say.  He was spared having to either tell the man the truth – and he wasn't sure he was ready to face that himself – or lie when the doctor knocked on the door and then entered the examination room.  He was heavyset man in his fifties, and balding.

He extended his hand to Patterson as he introduced himself.  Dr. Jacob Klein it seemed preferred the slower pace of the federal clinic to either a hospital or a private practice.

          "Well, Mr. Patterson, I have your x-ray now, so let's take a look at it, shall we?"  Flicking on the switch to the light box, he slipped the film under the holding clip and inspected it carefully.

          After several moments of silence, Randall quipped, "Am I gonna live, Doc?"

          Klein ignored Martin's answering chuckle and turned back to his patient.  "You're lucky, Detective.  Nothing broken."  He lifted Randall's hand, removing the ice and gently examining it.  "I don't think you'll even need stitches.  Do you want something for the pain?"

          "Nah, I'm good," the lieutenant said, shrugging off the suggestion.

          "Okay then, I'll get a nurse in here to put a dressing on it and you can be on your way."  At the door, the man stopped and added, "You might want to avoid hitting any more walls for a while."

          Twenty minutes later, the nurse had finished bandaging the wounds, giving Randall instructions on how to ice the area as needed.

          As they headed back up to the FBI offices, Randall sighed and leaned back against the elevator wall.  He rubbed his good hand over his weary eyes.

          "I'm sorry," Martin said.

          The lieutenant frowned slightly.  "What do _you_ have to apologize for?"

          Martin shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable about the question he'd asked the man earlier.  "I…  I just wish this wasn't happening to you and your partner… seems like you guys have had enough to deal with in one lifetime."

          Patterson snorted.  "From your mouth to God's ear."

          The car arrived at their floor and both men stepped out, Randall allowing Martin to take the lead.

          The two men re-entered the conference room.  Only Jack and Vivian were still there, both of them looking over the files and their notes on the case.

          "So, how's the hand?" Jack asked, looking up as they entered.

          Randall shrugged.  "It's fine.  Nothing's broken."

          "Well, that's a little good news."  Malone gestured for both men to take a seat at the table.

          "Any progress?" Martin asked, wondering where Danny was as he sat down.

          "Not yet," Vivian answered.

          Jack leaned back in his chair, pinching above his upper lip with his thumb and finger.  He laced his fingers together and said, "Okay, let's go over what we know about Coffin.  He's an ex-cop who had access to personal information about his victims.  He stalked them, knew or learned their habits, their patterns.  He's a repressed homosexual who can't act on his desires in a normal fashion.  And he's targeted Swift specifically – twice."

          "You left out the fact that he's a sick bastard who should be put down like a rabid dog," Patterson growled.

          "Maybe you're the key to this," Jack said, looking over at Randall.

          "Me?"  The idea clearly startled Randall.  "How so?"

          "Could his problems with Mac be more about you than Swift?" Jack asked him.  "Could he want you, and see Mac as his rival?"

          "I don't think so," Patterson replied, shaking his head.  "Coffin's fixation has always been on Mac.  Mike and me, we were collateral damage."

          "All right…  Are there any places or things that are unique to you and Mac?" Malone asked him.  "Besides the loft.  A weekend getaway spot, or a favorite sports team?  Anything like that?"

          Patterson gave it some serious consideration before he shook his head regretfully.  "No.  We spent all of our time here in the city, except for the ceremony, and that was just a long weekend in Vermont.  We don't even have a usual place to eat.  We go all over."

          "Damn it."  Jack scrubbed his hands over his face.  "He's playing us.  Wherever he is it's someplace obvious.  He's giving us the clues, we're just not getting it.  And he wants to rub our noses in it."

          "The only obvious places I can think of are the precinct, the warehouse and the loft."  Randall shrugged.  "But you guys have the warehouse and the loft under surveillance and the precinct is out of the question.  I don't see how he could get Mac in to any of them without being spotted."  Martin's surprised look at the mention the loft made the detective grin.  "I called to check on Kema and my neighbor told me about this gray sedan with the two suits parked outside the building the past two days – kind of obvious, guys, but thanks."

          Something Randall had said the day before had been nagging at Martin, and he carefully reached for the memory… something he had said about him and Mac… was it family related…?  Fitzgerald sat forward in his chair with a start, staring intently at the detective.  "Does Mac still own his father's house?"

          "It's in both our names, actually, but yeah, we still own it.  We've been talking about selling, but we've never got around to putting it–"

          "That's it!  The license plates, the hotel room number," Vivian said, leaning forward as well.  "1-1-9!"

          "Jesus," Malone said, seeing where she was going.  "Military speak for the eleventh of September."

          "September eleventh," Martin said, nodding.  "When Michael Swift died."

Comprehension dawned and Patterson's green eyes went wide.  "Shit!  That is it!  The house has been locked up, but if someone really wanted to, they could get in."

          "It makes sense," Jack stated.  "Michael Swift used to de-escalate confrontations between Swift and Coffin.  It's possible Coffin considers this his way of getting back at Swift Senior as well."

          "That's why the car and the hotel room were rented in the Sarge's name!"  Randall slapped the table with his good hand.  "Damn it, I should've seen the connection sooner!  There should've been someone watching the house!"

          "Time for recriminations later," Malone snapped, pushing to his feet, along with the others at the table.  "Let's just get over there and see if we're right."

          Vivian was already on the phone, calling the lab and telling Danny to meet them down in the lobby of the building.

          When they arrived there, Danny was already waiting for them.  Jack explained what they had come up with to him and then said, "Randall, you and Martin will ride with me.  Vivian, take Danny with you.  Call the local PD on the way.  Have backup meet us a couple of blocks from the house."  He looked at Patterson.  "Where?"

Randal gave him a street name, and a block number.

"And make sure there's an ambulance on standby," Jack added.  "I don't want to tie-up a unit if we're wrong, but if we're right, we have no idea what condition Swift might be in."

          "Be careful," Danny said quietly this time as he passed by Martin.

          _Gee, I didn't know you cared_ , was the man's automatic thought, an echo of what Danny had probably thought earlier.  He flashed the man a thin smile.  "Yeah, yeah," he replied, just like he had earlier when they had been on the phone.

          As they headed out of the building, Randall found himself beginning to believe that there just might be hope for Mac's return for the first time since this nightmare started.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**1 p.m.**

**49 hours missing**

 

Jack and Vivian both pulled over and parked their cars about a block away from the Swifts' house.  The neighborhood was quiet, the streets lined by tall trees.  Each of the homes had a good-sized, well-manicured lawn.  It was the perfect middle-class suburban dream.  They were quickly joined by three squad cars from the local precinct.

Jack collected the officers together and explained what he needed from them, the men dispersing to carry out his orders as soon as he was finished.

Jack walked back to join Randall and his team.  Looking at the detective he asked, "You have a way in?"

Patterson nodded, tapping the keys in his front pants pocket.

They headed for the house on foot.  The neighbors who happened to be at home were being quietly evacuated by the uniformed officers, who were going door to door.

The agents and Patterson stopped two houses away from the former Swift residence.

Randall fished into his pocket and pulled out his keys, slipping one off and handing it to Jack.

"Tell me about the layout of the house," Malone instructed Patterson, knowing he had to give the cops a little more time to complete the evacuation.

"Two floors," Randall said.  "Bedrooms are upstairs, large bathroom, too, between them.  And what used to be a sewing room that ended up a storage room.  It's crammed full of stuff so I know they're not in there.  Downstairs is the laundry room, kitchen, living room, dining room and Mike's billiards room.  There's a half bath, too, set under the staircase, but it's too small for anything Coffin might have planned."

Jack nodded.  "He'd probably take Swift to one of the bedrooms…  Furniture still in the house?"

Patterson nodded.  "The room Mac and I shared has got two twin beds.  Mike's room–"  He stopped, his throat closing up.  He coughed to clear it and continued.  "The master bedroom's got a queen in it."

"Where?" Danny asked him.

"It's the first door on the left, at the top of the stairs," Randall told them.

"Patterson, you stick with me," Jack said, but I want you to stay in the hallway until we secure the situation – got that?"

The detective nodded.

"I'm not just saying that to hear the sound of my own voice.  You stay out of the situation until I say different," Jack pressed, his gaze locked on Randall's.

"I hear you, Agent," Patterson returned.  He didn't want to give Coffin's lawyers any ammunition either.

"Danny, you go with Viv," Malone continued.  "We'll check the first floor, then head up to the second.  Danny, Viv, you follow the two of us."  He looked at Martin.  "I want you to stay at the bottom of the stairs, just in case he bolts."

They all nodded and Jack grabbed the radio the ranking uniformed officer had handed him earlier, keying the mike and checking to see if the officers were in position.

They were, and the sergeant assured Malone that they would cover the front and back doors of the house, as well as the windows along the sides.  There would be nowhere for Coffin to go.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A little earlier**

 

          Coffin swore in frustration as he clambered off the bed.  Reaching for his pants, he pulled them on and zipped them up, then began to pace in the room.  He tried to ignore his captive's wheezing chuckles.

          For his part, Mac was enjoying Coffin's latest failure.  He also felt like he was floating on air.  He had no idea what kind of drugs Coffin had slipped him this time and, frankly, he didn't care either.  Whatever helped him get through this until Randall arrived with the cavalry was just fine by him.

          "Give it up, Andy," he slurred, then giggled.  "Up…  You seem to have a problem with that, don't you?"

          "Bastard!" Coffin shouted with rage, stalking to the side of the bed and backhanding Swift across the face.  Leaning over the bound man, he snarled, "Think that's funny, Swift?  Well, you won't think it's so funny when–"        The ring of his cell phone caught Coffin's attention and he glanced around the room.  Where had he left his jacket?

There, on top of the desk.

          He stomped over and fished the phone out of the inside pocket, switching it on.  "Talk to me."

          Mac blearily watched his captor's expression turn from stormy to pure rage.  Oh great, more fun for him.  _Randall, where the fuck are you, man?_

          "You'd better make yourself scarce, Roach.  _Now!_   And pray they don't find you, because if they do, you're a dead man.  You got that?"  Terminating the call, Coffin flung the cell phone against the far wall, watching with satisfaction as it broke into a couple of large pieces.

          He reached for the duffel bag he had brought along, unzipping it and pulling out an item Swift couldn't see.

          "It seems your _partner_ and his friends are finally getting closer to finding us," he sneered.  Turning to face Mac, he kept his hands behind his back.  "That pushes the timetable up a little bit, but I'm prepared for that."

          "Fuck you, Andy," Mac said tiredly.  "You've haven't been able to follow through on a single threat you've made… except to take the coward's way out and beat a man who can't fight back."

          Coffin grinned widely.  "Ah, but this time it _will_ be different, Swift."

          "Oh, really?  What, you get a penile implant over the phone?  Wow.  Ain't technology–"

          "Shut the fuck up!" Coffin yelled, scrambling onto the bed and grabbing Swift by the hair.  He jerked his head back and waved his free hand in front of his captive's face, grinning with satisfaction when Mac's eyes went wide.  "Yeah, it's _exactly_ what you think it is, Swift.  And more."

          Fear cut through some of the drug-induced haze that clouded the man's mind and Mac swallowed hard.  Up until now he had been able to more or less convince himself that it wouldn't happen.  That Coffin could never get it up and keep it up long enough to follow through on his threats of rape.  But the long, thick dildo the man was brandishing changed the odds, tipping them in Coffin's favor.

          "You sick son-of-a-bitch," Mac growled.

          " _I'm_ sick?  Oh, that's a laugh," Coffin sneered.  "I'm not the one who spreads his legs for–"

          "You can't get it up so you have to resort to strapping on a toy?" Swift yelled at the man.

          "Likes of you would make anybody soft.  Anybody but that slut you screw," Coffin returned venomously.

          Knowing that his captor was close enough for him to strike, Mac head-butted the man, unconcerned with the ringing it set off in his already aching head.  There was no way he was letting this man take him.  Not like this.  Not _any_ way.

          Coffin screeched and jerked back, clutching at his nose.  He was relieved to find that it wasn't bleeding.  Infuriated, he backhanded Swift again, grinning in satisfaction as the blow re-opened a cut on the man's lip.  Blood oozed over Mac's chin and ran down his throat.

          "You're going to regret that, Swift," Coffin promised him.  "I was tempted to make this easy for you – have my fun and then flip the switch.  Boom!  You'd never know what had hit you… but now…"

          Andy's deceptively calm, almost friendly tone of voice instantly raised Mac's hackles.  Fighting back sure as hell beat going out like a lamb led to the slaughter, but he had to wait until the man was closer to him again before he could try again.

          Coffin laughed, once more showing Mac the dildo.  He stroked his hand up and down the black, shiny surface.  "I had no idea the variety one could choose from with these _toys_.  Some of them are nothing more than molded rubber, others are far more… intricate.  Lucky for me, this particular model has a rather large storage space inside, where the batteries would usually go."

          "Andy–"

          "I learned a lot of things in prison, Swift," the ex-con continued as if his captive hadn't spoken.  "Things like where to get explosives… what kind to use… how much.  Just imagine my surprise when I discovered that just a tiny amount of C-4, rigged to the switch of this perverted plaything, could accomplish so much?  It will, quite literally, blow your ass away."  He laughed.

          Swift began to struggle in earnest now, his fear nearly gagging him.  Coffin was serious.  He was going to rape him with that damn thing and then he was going to let it explode…  Christ.

          Coffin continued laughing, enjoying the man's futile efforts to free himself.  Once more he climbed off the bed.  He stripped off his pants and then reached down to fondle his lax genitals, enjoying the tingle of anticipation that had him semi-erect already.

          "It's a shame you won't be able to experience the real thing," he gloated, stroking himself.  "But I'm told this gives an intense pleasure all on its own…"

          He crawled back onto the bed and settled in behind Swift, running the tip of the dildo over the struggling man's hip and ass and laughing madly when the man tried to jerk away from the device.

          "I'm sure Patterson will be able to figure out what happened – eventually," Coffin continued in a conversational tone.  "It's just a shame he won't be able to watch it happen in living Technicolor."

          Before the ex-con could continue, the bedroom door burst open wide, two men and a woman rushing into the room, their guns drawn.

          "FBI!  Back away from him!" the older of the two men shouted.  And when Coffin didn't comply immediately, growled menacingly, " _Now, asshole!_ "

          "Fuck!" Coffin shrieked.  "Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!"  Couldn't these morons see that he was busy?  "Get out!"

          "Move away from him – _now!_ " Jack repeated.  He centered his site on the man and prepared to pull the trigger.

Coffin, still swearing softly to himself and shaking his head, began to move slowly away from Swift.

          Jack and Danny shifted position, fanning out around the bed to make sure the man was well covered.

          "Martin!" Vivian called and, a moment later, Fitzgerald was in the room as well, his weapon held ready to be used.

          "Get off the bed!" Jack snapped.  "Nice and slow," he added.

          Mac watched, thinking that he _must_ be dreaming, that his drug-filled mind was finding a really good hallucination to distract him from whatever it was that Coffin must be doing to his body.  Yeah, that had to be it… right?  He was just sorry that he wasn't going to get the chance to tell Randall that he loved him one more time.  But Rand knew that.  He did…

          Coffin inched closer to the edge of the bed and Jack took another step closer to the man, his gun aimed right at the ex-con's face.  "Put that _down_ ," he snarled.

          Laying the dildo on the edge of the bed, Coffin swung his legs over and stood, his hands held up and away from his body.  They didn't get it.  They really didn't get it.  He didn't care if he died.  He wanted to die.  But he was going to take Swift him with, one way or another…

          "Patterson!" Malone snapped.

Mac watched as Randall entered the room, his own weapon out and ready.  _Cool… must be part of the hallucination_ , he thought.  _Damn these are good drugs_.

But the look on Randall's face told him that this was no dream, it was real.

Upon seeing that Coffin was unarmed, Patterson slammed his weapon back into his holster and, without a moment's hesitation, stalked across the room and grabbed Coffin, who only looked up at him with a leering smile.  "You're too late," he said softly.  "I had his fine white ass."

With a sound that was half-fury, half-pain, Patterson slammed his already swollen fist straight into the man's face, sending Coffin crashing back onto the bed where he landed on top of Swift's bare legs.

Seeing his lover, and knowing that he was real, shattered what was left of Mac's fragile control and he jerked and bucked when Coffin fell onto him, trying to get the man off.  "Randall!" he cried.

          Jack and Danny both lunged forward, grabbing Patterson and pulling him away before the detective could beat Coffin to death with his bare hands.  But Randall was determined and he fought the tight grips of the two agents, needing to punish Coffin for all the pain he had put Mac through.  Put them _both_ though.

          "Patterson!" Danny snapped right into his ear.  "Mac needs you, man.  He needs you _now_."

          That cut though the red haze that had nearly blinded the detective and he stopped fighting.  "Mac?" he keened softly, moving to Swift even as Martin and Viv stepped in, Fitzgerald grabbing Coffin by the arm and hauling him off Mac and the bed.  This time the man's nose _was_ broken and leaking copious amounts of blood that was running down his face and dripping off his chin onto his chest and arms.

          The next few moments would remain a blur for all the participants.

          Coffin, on his feet, turned, reaching for the abandoned dildo.

Mac, seeing the man reaching for the device, bellowed, "Bomb!" just as Randall reached him.  Patterson threw himself over his lover to try and protect him from the explosion.

          Jack and Danny were each re-drawing their weapons.

Martin was grappling with Coffin, trying to stop him from reaching the sex toy.

          "Martin!" Viv shouted, her own weapon still up.

          Fitzgerald felt Coffin twist out of his grasp, blood and sweat making the man too slippery to hold onto.  He lurched back, out of Vivian's line of fire.

          "Freeze!" she commanded, but Coffin was determined to take out the two men who had plagued him for so long.  He continued to reach for the dildo.

Vivian squeezed the trigger.

          From their positions on the bed, Mac and Randall watched as Coffin's body jerked once, his eyes going wide with surprise.  He looked down at the two men, two words escaping his bloody lips even as his life evaporated into nothingness.  "Fucking fags…"

          Coffin dropped to the floor.

          The room fell silent, each of them waiting for their perceptions to catch up with the unfolding events.  Then Swift giggled, the incongruous sound seemingly bouncing off the walls of the room.

          The agents all looked at the man lying on the bed, naked, battered and bloody as he giggled again.  "Now that's one fuckin' blow job that would've really _sucked!_ " he stated emphatically.

          There was a moment of silence and then Danny snorted and started to laugh.

          Randall chuffed and shook his head, looking down at his partner, tears beginning to fill his eyes.  "You okay, man?"

          Jack keyed the radio.  "This is Malone.  It's all clear," he stated.  "Get those paramedics up here!"

          Mac blinked, relieved when Randall was still there.  "'M fine," he replied to his lover's question.  "You?"

          "Yeah, I'm fine too," Patterson responded as he freed Mac, who immediately crawled over to the edge of the bed and stared down at Coffin's body.

          "Andy… you fuckin' bastard," he said, shaking his head.  Looking over his shoulder he told Patterson, "That man just had the worst damn case of coitus interruptus I ever saw!"

          And that had Martin and Vivian joining Danny in another round of laughter.  Even Jack grinned, shaking his head.

          Randall snorted and then smiled, shaking his head as well.  "You're high, man," he accused his lover.

          "That's low," Swift scolded him, then giggled again.  "Low blow…  He needed a good blow job, that's for sure… blow job would've been a blast…"  He giggled again and continued, muttering softly to himself and giggling at his own puns.

          The paramedics arrived, along with the cops, the medics forcing Randall off the bed so they could begin to work on Mac.  He joined the four agents in one corner of the room.  After meeting each one's eyes, he said, "Thank you."

          Jack nodded and glanced over at Danny, saying, "Find out where they're taking him."

          Taylor made his way over to get the information.

          "We'll drop you off at the hospital," Jack told Randall.  "Will you be all right there alone?"

          "Yeah," Patterson said, nodding.  "I'll catch a cab to the loft once I know Mac's gonna be okay, grab a shower and drive back…  It's over."

          "And he won't be coming back to bother you again," Martin said.

          "Thank God," Randall replied.  "I just hope we can get through this."

          "You can," Vivian told him.  "Together, you can."

He nodded, silently praying she was right.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Late that night**

 

Hands reached out of the darkness; gentle hands that caressed him, teased him, making him hard and weak with need…

_No._

He moaned softly and tried to wake up, but he knew it was useless.  The images had already started to play out in his mind and there would be no escaping them until it was over.

Why couldn't those hands be real?  Was that too much to ask?

He shifted uncomfortably under the covers, trying to find that maddening touch again, but he was apparently alone.

He whimpered softly, waiting, willing the erotic touch to return.  And it did, a whisper of breath and lips brushing over his right nipple.  He sucked in a sharp breath.  "Yes…" he hissed softly.  "Martin…"

Feather-light kisses rained down upon his body, making him jerk and twist.  The covers bunched and slipped off his anguished body.  He needed more.  He needed more, right _now_.

"Please…" he begged in a thick whisper.

He felt the hands rub across his chest and his nipples were pinched and pulled.  A tongue laved over one and then the other.

"Yes…"

His back arching, Danny tried to press into sensations, wanting more, _needing_ more, but the fingers, the tongue were one step ahead of him, just like they always were.

And then they were gone, denying him the contact, the release, he longed for.  He panted, his frustration climbing.  "Martin…"

Why couldn't he have the man?  Why couldn't he just tell him the truth?

The hands were back again… holding him down, mouth and tongue ravaging him, sucking him, plunging into his mouth.

He was being taken.  "Yes…  Yes…"

He felt his climax begin to rise, a painful swell of passionate need that would sweep him away soon.  His eyes fell closed again.

"Martin…" he breathed.

A hand grabbed him, squeezed him.  He gasped, his eyes opening to the darkness.  "Please…" he moaned.  He was begging and he didn't care.  He wanted to come.  He wanted Martin to make him come.

He was spinning out of control now, the end racing toward him in an overpowering rush.  The hands were everywhere, holding him down, invading him, stroking him.  They were driving him out of his mind.

"Please," he begged in a thick, choking whisper.  "Please, Martin…  Please…"

          His body shuddered as he felt himself being stretched, filled…

He cried out, jerking as he shot his warm come onto his chest and belly.

His eyes cracked open, catching that ghost of a smile in the darkness, and those beautiful blue eyes, staring down at him.  Eyes full of desire… and love.

          "Ah, Martin," he breathed, feeling his own eyes begin to burn.  "I want you so damn much…"

          But Martin wasn't really there.  He was just dreaming.  That smile wasn't really for him…

Danny jerked awake, semen already turning cold on his exposed skin.  He groaned.  _Damn it!  I can't keep doing this!_

_I'm gonna fuck that man if it's the last damn thing I do!_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**The same time**

**Uptown**

 

 _Shit_.

He was dreaming.  He _had_ to be dreaming.

But dream or no, there he was.  Danny.  Naked and… tied to his bed.

 _Oh shit_.

Danny was struggling, too, but not nearly as hard as he could if he had really wanted to.  He was watching him, too.

What was that in his eyes?  Anger?

_Need… want…_

_Oh God…_

He felt his cock getting hard and he reached down, pulling on it, stroking it as he stared into the man's eyes.

Then Danny closed his eyes like he couldn't bear to watch any longer…

Walking to the bed, Martin stood, looking down at the man who had been haunting his dreams.  The man who was, slowly but surely, driving him crazy.  Hell, just his smile was enough to send shards of desire slicing through his groin.

          Martin crawled onto the bed, pressing the head of his thick shaft against the man's chest.  Danny's eyes sprang open.  He looked down at Martin's cock and moaned, the vibration traveling up Martin's shaft and setting his balls on fire.

          Martin shifted and, taking hold of the base of his cock, he guided it to Danny's mouth.

          His lips parted and Martin eased past them, his cock disappearing into moist warmth that stole his breath away.

          "Oh God," he gasped.  "Oh, Danny…  Yes…"  His hips began to move, and he looked down, watching as his cock rode in and out of the man's eager mouth.

          Danny's tongue swirled over him, making Martin swell.  He was close, so close…  Too close.

He jerked out of Danny's mouth, panting.

          He scooted back a little, then reached down and lifted the man's knees.  He braced his hands against them and leaned over, licking up the underside of the man's erect cock, which was pointed straight up at the ceiling.  It jumped in response, precome bubbling up from the tiny slit at the tip.

          He used his tongue to lave over Danny's weeping crown, spreading the precome that was oozing out of him across the soft, spongy surface…

God, he tasted so good…

          He leaned down farther, licking over the tight pucker of flesh in the man's crack…

Danny's hips bucked up off the bed.

Martin straightened and smiled down at the man.  He reached out, rubbing over that same pucker, his spit making it slippery.

Danny's head fell back and he pressed down on the touch.

Martin let his finger slip just inside the tight ring of muscles.  It was hot inside… and soft... tight…

Inching up, Martin grabbed his cock, guiding the head to Danny's hole.  He looked up, meeting the man's eyes.

Danny nodded.  "Please," he whimpered, trying to press down and impale himself on Martin's cock.  Please…" he groaned, his eyes closing.

It was a dream, just a dream, but he didn't care.  He pressed forward, sinking into the man he wanted, his aching erection jerking in response to the sensations that immediately assailed him.  A velvet fist…

His body started shaking and twitching as Danny's muscles jumped and danced over his shaft as he slid farther inside the man.  "God… Danny… you feel so good…"

Under him, Danny lifted his hips and drove himself down on Martin's cock, forcing the man all the way up inside him.  Then he clamped down.

Martin gasped, freezing at the sensation of a strong fist closing around his cock.

"You want it?" he asked the man.

Danny nodded.  "Yes…"

He reached down and lifted Danny's hips…  And then he was driving into the man, pumping him with his cock.

Martin watched his lover's head rolling from side to side as Danny chanted his name, over and over.

"Martin… yes… Martin… Martin…"

It felt so good, and he wanted to keep going, but Danny was already jerking, his cock shooting come onto Martin's chest.  He felt his own seed begin to surge up his shaft…

He rammed hard into Danny's ass and came, again and again… until he could see it bubbling up and over the man's lips…

          He jerked awake and immediately collapsed back against the mattress, gasping for air, his body quivering in the aftermath of his orgasm.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his still-leaking cock, milking it, stroking it until he was finally soft.

          _Damn it, Danny_ , he thought, _what the hell am I going to do?  I can't keep doing this!_

_Shit…_

One way or another, he _had_ to find a way to get the man into his bed and fuck him for real.

          It was that or shoot him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

**A few days later**

 

          Randall eyed his partner with concern as they rode the elevator up to the Missing Persons Unit.  Although the bruises and cuts on Mac's face had healed, he was still pale and he still moved more like an old man.  Coffin's beatings had been severe, and some of the bruising had been deep, particularly on his torso.  His ribs and the muscles surrounding them would likely be sore for some time yet.

          "I'm okay, Rand."  Mac didn't need to look at Patterson to know the other man was keeping an eye on him.

          "Yeah, right," the detective muttered.  "We do this, then it's straight home for you."

          "Oooh, is that an offer?"  Swift gave him a shadow version of his trademark smirk.

          Randall bit back a groan, trying to convince his traitorous body to ignore that remark.  He hadn't tried to initiate any intimacy since Mac's release from the hospital, other than a kiss or hug, fearing his partner wasn't yet ready for it.  Luckily, the elevator stopped and the doors opened, ending that particular conversation.

As they stepped out into the hallway, Mac glanced at Randall for guidance.

It took Randall a moment to realize that his partner hadn't set foot in this building before today.  Randall felt like he knew it all too well by now.  Pointing to Mac's left, he indicated the direction they should go.

          "You sure they'll be here?"  Mac rubbed his hands together nervously.  "What if they caught a case?"

          "Nah, I checked when we were coming through security.  They're here."  At Mac's disbelieving look, Randall shrugged.  "I spent a lot of time here.  The guy recognized me."

          A shadow passed over Swift's expression.  "I'm sorry, Randall."

          Reaching out and lightly grasping Mac's arm, Patterson gently urged him over to the side of the hallway.  "That's bullshit, Mac," she said softly.  "We both know you've got nothin' to be sorry for."  Randall kept his voice low as he continued.  "It's all on Coffin.  None of this is on you.  And I'm going to keep tellin' you that until you believe it."

          Swift nodded, his eyes bright.  He patted Randall's hand, holding on a moment longer than was necessary.  "Thanks, partner.  I love you, y'know."

          Patterson squeezed Mac's hand.  "Love you, too.  Now, let's get going before someone thinks we're up to something suspicious."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Mac hung back a couple steps as they entered the office housing the Missing Persons Unit.  His partner seemed very at ease with these people and Swift found himself almost envying that.

          He savagely cut the thought short, knowing what Randall had endured during the days he had been missing.  Truthfully, Mac didn't think he could have held it together if their positions had been reversed.  Knowing what Coffin would do to Randall…

          Damn, he owed these people a lot.  Not only had they found him and rescued him, but they had kept Randall from crossing the line – in more than one sense.  And yet that still didn't ease his discomfort completely.

          Although the memories of his captivity were hazy in spots due to the drugs and beatings, Swift remembered enough of the rescue to feel keenly embarrassed about his actions.  It didn't matter that he had been a victim.  In some ways, that just made things worse.

          The team had gone above and beyond the call for him.  And for Randall.

          Suddenly, he found the thought of facing his rescuers wasn't so stressful after all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Seeing movement out in the hallway, Danny glanced up from the computer screen he had been studying with Martin.  His eyes widened when he saw Randall and Mac.  They were standing close to the wall, engaged in a serious conversation from the looks of it.

          He couldn't help watching them.  It was the first chance he'd had to observe the pair since the rescue.  Watching them together crystallized things for the Cuban and he finally felt as if he were seeing the whole puzzle, instead of just pieces of it.

          Swift and Patterson, as individuals, could definitely pass as straight.  But the way they shared space, they looks they exchanged, their obvious closeness, all that made it obvious to anyone with eyes that they were a couple.

          The pair finished their discussion and continued on their way.  And as they entered the office, Danny nudged Martin, who looked up from his computer terminal.  Catching sight of the visitors, he grinned widely and got to his feet.

          "Randall.  Mac!  It's great to see you guys."  Fitzgerald walked over and shook hands with both men, holding onto Mac's hand just a moment longer.

          Vivian and Sam were engrossed in their own projects, and Jack was in his office, on the phone.

The two women looked up when they heard Martin's voice.  Both smiled and came over to greet Swift and Patterson as well.

          Randall hung back a little, a small smile on his face as he watched his partner interact with Malone's team.  Swift was by no means a shy man, but the ordeal with Coffin had definitely marked him emotionally.  That was to be expected, and Randall knew not to push him too much.  Seeing Mac smiling and chatting with some ease gave him hope for a full recovery.

          Jack hung up from his call and came out to join them.  Sam and Viv moved aside so he could shake hands with Randall and Mac.

          "You look a hell of a lot better than the last time we saw you," Jack told Swift.

          "Trust me, I feel a lot better, too."  Mac cleared his throat.  "I, uh, didn't exactly put my best foot forward that afternoon."

          The others snickered, remembering Swift's comments.

          "Seriously, though, I wanted to thank you guys for everything you did for us."  Mac shifted from one foot to the other, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets.  "I, uh, don't know how much longer I could've held on without losing it.  I owe you guys."

          "We were just doing–" Malone began.

          "No, man," Randall interrupted.  "You guys went above and beyond the call.  Keeping me involved, letting me crash here.  It's what kept me sane.  Kept me going.  We _both_ owe you."

          The others added their own protests until Mac raised his hand in a quest for for silence.

          "Randall and I would really appreciate it if you guys could join us for drinks.  Nothing fancy."  He spread his hands.  "What do you say?"

          The team waited for Jack's answer, most of them already suspecting what it would be.

          "You both know we can't, although we'd love to.  I'm sorry."

          "I had to at least try."  Mac gave them a wry grin.  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a CD and handed it over to Jack.

          "What's this?" the older man asked, puzzled.

          "I found this information," Swift explained, looking innocent.  "The CD contains some names, account numbers, and some other things that tie in to a couple of missing persons cases I've read about recently."

          "Mac…"  Malone looked distinctly uncomfortable.

          "Hey, I don't know what's on it.  I just found it," Swift said, shrugging.  "What you do with it is your decision.  Whether it has anything useful is anyone's guess."

          Pocketing the CD, Jack reached out and once again shook Mac's hand.  "Anytime you guys are in the neighborhood, look us up, okay?  I mean that."

          Swift nodded.  "And if there's ever anything I can do to help you guys out, you know where to find me, okay?"

          The sharp ring of a phone startled them and Viv walked over to answer it.  Looking up, she gestured for Jack.

          "Take care, guys," he said as he turned to deal with business.

          Sam shook hands with both men.  "It was good to see you again."

          Danny followed suit, falling into a conversation with Mac.

          Randall jerked his head, letting Martin know he wanted to talk to him.  They moved off a little ways.

          Patterson shot Danny a look, then turned his attention back to Martin, asking, "So, have you talked to him?"

          "What?" Martin asked, confused.

          "Danny, have you told him about what you're feeling yet?"

          Fitzgerald's cheeks turned rosy.  "Uh, no…"

          "Do it, man," Randall urged him.  "Life's too short, y'know?"

          Martin nodded.  "Yeah…  I just don't know…"

          "You'll never know, until you try," the older man concluded.  He reached out and patted Martin's arm.  "Do it.  Life sucks when you're missing the pieces that give it meaning."

          And with that, they drifted back to join Mac and Danny.  Goodbyes were said and as the pair walked headed out the door, Martin couldn't help watching them.  Mac moved closer to his partner and, without hesitation, Patterson wrapped an arm around Swift's waist.

          The gesture was so natural and comfortable it made Fitzgerald's throat ache.

          _God, if Danny and I could have even a fraction of what those two share…_   He shook his head.  Somehow he just didn't think he could get that lucky.

          At least not in this lifetime.

          But Patterson was right, and Martin knew he was going to have to at least tell Danny the truth.  Then, if Danny laughed at him, or blew him off, or whatever, at least then he'd know he'd tried.  Maybe then the damn dreams would finally leave him alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**That evening**

 

Danny watched as Sam limped off, muttering under her breath, so he knew she must be on her way to yet another physical therapy session.  He shook his head, hoping she'd be through with them soon – before she went postal and took them all down.

Jack walked out of his office, watching Sam for a few moments, then glancing at the rest of his team and saying, "Look, it's been a long couple of weeks…  I think we could all use a long weekend.  So, I'm giving you one.  Get out of here.  Three days."  And with that he turned, waved, and headed out himself.

The three agents exchanged surprised looks.  Vivian stood.  "Well, I don't have to be told twice," she said.  "Bye, guys.  Have fun."

Danny and Martin watched her go, then turned back to finish off what they had been working on before heading out as well.

Martin finished first.  He turned off his computer and grabbed his jacket, saying, "Catch ya later," as he started out.

"Hey, Martin," Danny called, scooting back and bolting out of chair to catch the man before he could reach the elevators.

Martin stopped, a little surprised that Danny was coming after him.

Stopping in front of Martin, Danny was suddenly at a loss as to what to say.  He glanced down at the floor.  "Uh, look, I was just going to ask you…  I found this new place…  You have dinner plans?" he finally managed to ask.

That widened those blue eyes.  "Uh… no… I was just–"

"Great!  I think you'll like this place.  It's actually up in your neighborhood."

"Uh," Martin said, "yeah, okay… sounds good…  Now?"

"Yeah, let me just get logged out," Danny said, hurrying back to his desk.

Martin stood, watching the man, wondering what the hell was going on.  If he didn't know better, he'd say he had just been asked out on a date, but he knew that had to be wishful thinking, nothing more.  It was just because Mac and Randall had stopped by earlier…  Because Patterson had told him to go ahead and risk telling Danny how he felt…

And how the hell had the man figured out it was Danny he was interested in anyway?

Not that it really mattered, as long as Danny didn't figure it out.  He didn't think he could handle the teasing the man would subject him to if Danny knew he had the hots for him.

Christ, where did my resolve go? he wondered.  But he'd spent the entire day wavering between telling Danny and not telling Danny.

_I am such an idiot…_

"Ready?"

"Uh?"  _Oh, that was smooth…_

Danny grinned.  "I think you need that long weekend more than you think, Fitzie."

"Yeah, I guess," he admitted.

"Come on, I heard this place is supposed to be really good."

"What kind of food?" Martin asked as they headed for the elevators.

"Seafood," was the reply as they stepped into the car.

That surprised Martin.  He loved seafood, but he'd never heard Danny mention it, so he had assumed the man didn't care for it.  Then it hit him.  "Hey, this place, it is Hook, Line and Sinker?"

"Yeah," Danny said, grinning.  "Don't tell me, you tried it already and it stinks…"

Martin shook his head.  "Haven't tried it, but I've read the reviews – five stars from three of the four critics, and the last one gave it four stars.  And that was just because they didn't have the wine he wanted."

"Let's hope they live up to the reviews, then."

"Yeah," Martin replied, relaxing a little.  After all, this was just an extension of their friendship.  They worked-out together, they grabbed breakfast together, they had started going out for lunch together…  Why shouldn't they go grab dinner together on their way home?

It didn't mean anything…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Three hours later**

**Uptown**

 

          The two agents sat back, both of them full and happy.  Their meals had been excellent, their desserts heavenly.

Danny had stuck to ginger ale with his blackened catfish, while Martin enjoyed a couple of fogcutters[1] with his Polynesian-inspired meal.

          After they were done, they each picked a dessert from the cart their waitress brought around.  Danny opted for the chocolate cheesecake and some coffee.  Martin the New York style cheesecake, with a raspberry drizzle, and a Rémy-Martin.

          When they finally left, Martin stopped on the sidewalk, looking for a cab.  He stumbled slightly and giggled.

          Danny shook his head.  "You don't drink much, do you?"

          "Not much," the man admitted.  "Usually just a glass of wine with dinner."

          "Man, I think I better ride along with you; make sure you get home okay."

          "Naw, that's all right," Martin told him, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.  "I'll be fine.  I'm just a few blocks from home.  I could even walk from here – no problem."

          "I let you go home like this, someone's going to mug you," Danny told him, but he knew that wasn't the real reason.  He knew Martin wasn't drunk, just slightly buzzed.  But it was an excuse to spend a little more time with the man.  He had been wanting to do as much of that as possible lately.

          He stepped up to the curb and whistled.  A few moments later a cab pulled up and Danny opened the door, holding it so Martin could get in first, then he climbed in beside him.

          Martin gave the driver his address and they were off.

          A few minutes later they arrived at the upscale building, and Martin paid the man, adding a generous tip.  Going to the door, they were admitted by the doorman, who tipped his hat to Martin, saying, "Have a pleasant evening, sir."

          Danny shook his head.  "I didn't realize your place had a doorman, m'man."

          Martin gave Danny a shrug.  "It's a corporate condo, belongs to my mother's company.  I'm just using it until I can get into a place of my own.  I'm on a waiting list, but you know how long that can take."

          "Forever and a day, they tell me," Danny said with a grin, waiting with Martin until the elevator arrived.

          "Feels like it."

          They rode up to the seventh floor and got off, walking down the thickly carpeted hallway to unit C.  Danny leaned against the wall, waiting for Martin to get his keys out and open the door.  He was nervous, wondering what in the hell they could possibly talk about, besides work.

          But then he might be able to get away with suggesting they get Martin into bed…  God knew that was _exactly_ where he wanted the man…

          They entered the apartment and Danny glanced around.  The place was… a corporate apartment, nice but somewhat bland – like an expensive hotel room.

He paused and reconsidered.  Okay, bland except for the knickknacks that decorated the furniture – small, delicate tall-masted sailing ships inside tiny glass bottles.  They were… amazing.

          He leaned over, getting a closer look at the _Bounty_ , then grinned at Martin.  "These are really cool," he said, grinning.

          Martin grinned back.  "Thanks."

          "Where'd you find 'em, someplace in Seattle?"

          Martin shook his head.  "Made 'em," he said, then asked, "You want some coffee?"

          "Uh, no, thanks.  I'm full.  You _made_ them?"

          "Hobby I picked up as a kid.  My grandfather made them, and he taught me how to do it when I was laid up over a summer one year."

          "So how _do_ you get them into the bottle?"

          "Oh, no, I tell you the secret, I'd have to kill you."

          "C'mon, Fitz," Danny wheedled.

          "I'll show you some time, if you really want to see…"

          "Yeah, I would."  _Damn, Harvard, you keep surprising me…_   "Now, c'mon, let's get you in bed."

          "I'll be fine," Martin said, trying to wave him off.  The last thing he needed was Danny in his bedroom.  But Taylor was insistent, and he'd had more to drink that he usually did…

          They walked back to Martin's bedroom, Danny watching as the man put his ID and sidearm in a small lockbox, then begin to undress.  He swallowed hard and watched.

          It didn't surprise him that Martin was a little anal-retentive, hanging up his jacket and placing shirt and pants into a laundry bag he assumed would be picked up and delivered to the cleaners.  Shoes went in the closet, and socks into a regular laundry hamper.

          Then, clad only in his briefs, Martin disappeared into his bathroom.

          Danny sagged back against the wall.  What had he been thinking?  Had someone stamped "stupid" on his forehead?  If not, they should have!

          Just seeing the man in his underwear was going to fuel his dreams for weeks, no, _months_ to come!

Damn!  The man looked good enough to eat…

_Fuck!_

What _was_ he thinking?  Eat?  Hell, yeah he wanted to–

No.  No.  _No_.  He was _not_ going there.

Martin came back out and climbed into his bed.  "Hey," he said, "it’s late.  The sofa pulls out, man.  Why don't you crash here tonight?"

Danny stood, his mouth gaping open slightly.  Martin Fitzgerald had just invited him to spend the night…  _Fuck…_

"Uh, yeah… sure… good idea," he managed.  "You sure?  I could–"

"Sure, no problem," Martin said, interrupting him.  "We can get up, go workout and then grab some breakfast in the morning, if you want."

"I don't have anything to wear," Danny said, thinking that was perfectly reasonable.

"You can borrow some shorts and a T-shirt," Martin told him, rolling onto his side and curling up.  "Not a problem…"

Danny watched as the man drifted off to sleep.  "Yeah, right… no problem at all…"  He shook his head.

_I'm crazy.  Fuckin' crazy.  What the hell am I doing here?_

          He moved closer to the bed, looking down at the sleeping man.  _Damn…_   He sighed softly.  _He would look adorable when he's sleeping.  Sonuvabitch_.

          But he couldn't pull himself away.  He wanted to reach down and touch that slightly shadowed cheek.  He wanted to pull those covers down and–

          _Out!_ he commanded himself.  _Out, now.  Right now.  Before you do something you'll regret._   With one last look, he turned and forced his feet to carry him out of the room.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**2 a.m.**

 

          He drifted closer to consciousness as he turned over and burrowed under the covers, getting comfortable again.  It was out there… the dream… waiting for him to slip back into that realm of shadows and desires.

          _Damn_ …

          He could feel it, searching for him… calling out to him…  And he was too weak to resist, the object of his desire too close to be ignored.

He surrendered to the appeal and the hands returned… touching him, guiding him along the hallway… to the doorway of the bedroom where he stopped and stared.

He shook his head.  There was Martin, lying in his bed…

          No, lying on top of his covers.

But hadn't he seen the man climb into bed earlier?

          Not that it mattered.  Not when Martin was looking at him like he was…

 

 

          Martin knew that it was a dream, but he didn't care.  It was what he wanted, and if this was the only way he could get it, then he would just have to learn to accept that.

          But, right now, he just wanted the man standing in his doorway.  God, he was beautiful…

          He watched as Danny slipped silently into his room, walking to the foot of his bed and staring down at him with hungry-looking eyes.  Those laughing brown eyes…

He was long limbed, like a Thoroughbred, sleek and muscular…  Martin longed to reach out and run his hands over that smooth skin…

 

 

          He watched as Martin smiled, blue eyes drinking him in.  Then the man raised his hands, reaching out for him.

          He could feel the power of that summons drawing him closer.

He climbed onto the bed and Martin was suddenly naked, his semi-filled erection rolling on his lower belly as he spread his legs open for Danny.

          And, swallowing hard, he crawled between those open legs, moving over Martin so he was above the man's body, looking straight down into the man's eyes…

 

 

          Martin began to breathe faster as he felt the tip of Danny's long cock drawing a line from his groin to his solar plexus.  The man's hands were planted on either side of his shoulders…

          Then Danny lowered himself, his cock spearing Martin's belly, becoming mashed between them as their lips met…

 

* ~ *

          Danny claimed his prize, his tongue running over the man's lips, which parted, giving him access to Martin's mouth.  Plunging in, he lost himself in the taste of the man…

          His hips began to move, slowly, crushing his cock against the smooth skin of the man's stomach.  He could feel the muscles moving under Martin's skin, felt his cock spearing against his thigh…

 

 

          God, he was driving him crazy!  Danny was exploring his mouth, rubbing his cock against him…  And he couldn't stop his own hips from moving in response…

          But he wanted more, so much more…

          Martin reached up and wrapped his arms around Danny's back, pulling him in closer.  At the same time he lifted his knees and tilted his hips up.  He gasped when the man's cock rubbed against his…  Danny wasn't overly thick, but he was long, his cock capped with a mushroom-shaped head.

He wanted that cock, wanted it buried deep inside of him…

 

 

          He knew Martin wanted him, and he wanted nothing more than to give the man whatever he wanted.

          "Lift," he said.

          Martin lifted his legs, which opened his crack and exposed his ass to him.

          He grabbed the base of his cock and guided the tip to that pucker of tight muscle.  He pressed…

 

 

          Martin felt Danny penetrate him, the rounded tip of his cock allowing him to slip inside.  Then the rest of that long cock was snaking its way into his ass… finding that special spot…

          "Danny!" he cried.

 

 

          He felt Martin's muscles go wild, contracting, dancing along the shaft of his cock.  It was incredible…

          "Martin!" he cried.

 

 

          Martin's eyes popped open.  He'd heard Danny call his name.  What was wrong?

          He was moving to the living room before he realized he was actually out of bed.

 

 

          Danny sat up in the sofa bed.  He threw the covers back and was out and on his way down the hall.  He had heard Martin call for him.  He was sure of it.

          What could be wrong?

 

* ~ *

          They met in the middle of the hallway, both men panting and fully aroused.  Danny's cock was poking up almost all the way out of his briefs, and Martin had pushed his briefs down below his balls, so they and his cock were fully in view.

          Both men stopped, their gazes locked on the other's arousal.

          Both of them blushed.

          "I heard you call me," Danny said, at the same time as Martin said, "You called me."

          They both fell silent, only to begin speaking at the same time a moment later.

          "Are you all right?" Martin asked as Danny questioned, "You okay?"

          They both smiled and tore their gazes away, rearranging themselves, tucking their still-hard cocks back inside their briefs.

          "I'm…  I'm sorry," Martin said.  "I didn't mean to wake you up."

          "Yeah, me too," Danny replied.  "Guess we were both, uh, having some good dreams, uh?"

          "Yeah…"

          "Uh…"

          "Look, I have something I need to tell you," Martin said, just as Danny got out, "We need to talk."

          This time they both laughed, albeit a little nervously.

          "Christ, listen to us…"

          "Look, come with me," Martin said.

          _God, Ftiz, that's exactly what I want to do…_  "Sure."

          Martin turned, leading the way back to his bedroom.  He walked over and sat down on the foot of the bed.  "I need to tell you something."

          _Oh shit_ , Danny thought, had he figured it out?

          "I've been…  I don't know when…  The Swift case…"  Martin sighed loudly, unable to find a way to say what he wanted to say.

          Danny sat down on the foot of the bed next to Martin.  "What?"

          Martin sighed again, louder.  "I don't know how to say this."

          "Is something wrong?"

          "No…  No, it's not wrong…  Just… awkward," Martin admitted.  "I value our friendship, and I don't want that to change."

          "Martin, just say what you have to say."  _Tell me you know I want you and you're not interested so we can get this over with…_

          "I've been having these dreams…"

          _You, too, huh?  Wonder what yours are about…_

          "…about you."

          "Me?"  He swallowed, his throat constricting.

          Martin nodded.  "We're making–"

          Danny leaned forward, his kiss putting an immediate stop to Martin's words.  He saw the man's eyes close, felt his muscles melt slightly as he sank deeper into the kiss.  _Oh God_ , he thought.  _He's been having the same dreams!_

          The kiss deepened more, mouths opening, tongues exploring, teasing, tasting.  They pulled apart, breathless.

          "Is that why you've been avoiding me since the end of the Swift case?" Danny asked him softly.

          Martin nodded.  "Seeing them…  The dreams were getting worse, and I was afraid I'd give myself away.  I didn't think you'd be interested."

          Danny chuckled, the sound almost a giggle.  He was shaking all over, his skin tingling.  "Interested?  Oh, yeah, m'man, I'm interested – been interested for a long time.  Been having dreams about you for a long time."

          "Dreams?"

          Danny nodded.  "You're driving me crazy…  I–  I didn't think you'd be interested either."

          They both laughed again.

          "Some pair we make, huh?"

          "Tell me about it," Danny replied, shaking his head.  Then he looked up, meeting Martin's eyes.  "You'd really want to…?  With me?"

          "Yes.  Hell, yes.  I don't think I can–"

          "What?" Danny asked when Martin didn't continue.

          "I don't think I can keep going like this."

          _I know for a fact I can't_.  "What do you want, Martin?"

          "You," was his immediate reply.  "Us.  I want us.  I want what I saw between Mac and Randall."

          "Us…"

          Martin nodded.  "The whole package – body and soul, forever…  Love, marriage – or whatever they end up calling it.  Together.  Family.  Someone to share my life with…  Man, listen to me.  The next thing you know, I'll be writing for some sappy greeting card company."

          "Afraid you have a ways to go before that can happen."

          Martin snorted and shook his head.  "Gee, thanks."

          "I'm just kidding," Danny said tenderly.  He reached out and rested his hand on Martin's shoulder.  He felt the man tremble under his touch and ran his hand down Martin's arm as he said, "I hear you.  I think that's what I want, too."

          "Think?"

          Danny looked down, feeling the blood rush to his face.  "No…  I know that what I want, but it's hard to say so.  Not sure why."

          "Me either."

          Danny felt the man shiver.  He looked up.  "Come on," he said, and pushed up to stand.

          "What?"

          "You're cold," Danny said.  "Let's get under the covers."

          Martin hesitated, wondering if he was still dreaming.  But he stood and walked back to his usual side of the bed and climbed in.  Danny followed him, stretching out alongside him.  They snuggled against each other, holding and being held at the same time.

          "Better?" Danny asked.

          "Yeah."

          "Good."

          "Danny, tell me the truth, okay?"

          "Sure…"

          "Have you dreamed about being with me?  About us… making love?"

          "More times than I can count over the last few months."

          "And you'd really want to try that?"

          The man chuckled softly.  "Man, you saw what kind of condition I was in, right?  That was because I _was_ dreaming about you."

          It was Martin's turn to laugh.  "Same here.  I mean, I was dreaming about you and that's why I was–"

          "You looked… good.  Really good."

          "So did you."

          The two men continued to lie together, holding on to one another, afraid that if they let go, they would wake to find that it was all a dream.  They eventually drifted off to sleep, still tangled together.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Early morning**

 

          They both awoke slowly, like heat trying to rise in too humid air.  They were facing each other, attraction forcing their bodies together, twin bulges crushed together.

          Danny's hands wrapped around the back of Martin's head, his fingers pulling the man's hair as he kissed him.  It was all wet and heat and teeth, pressing down, engulfing Martin alive and the man squirmed, grunting softly as he tried to stimulate himself by rubbing against Danny.

          Rolling away slightly, Danny stripped off his briefs and repositioned himself on top of Martin, bearing down on top of the man, forcing him to expel any excess air from his lungs.

There was only one way for Martin to breathe now:  stealing every precious bit of oxygen he could from Danny's next kiss.  It was a little frightening, and very exciting.

          And when the Cuban ground his hips into Martin's, crushing the smaller man's cock into a pile of pain and desire, all Fitzgerald could do was whimper, "Yes…"

          Danny released Martin's mouth and listened to the man gasping.  He moved, letting the man refill his lungs.  He nibbled his way down the blue-eyed man's neck and across his shoulder, leaving a visible trail of his desire.  Martin could do nothing more than moan his assent.

          Reaching out, Danny pulled the man's briefs off and then grabbed the waiting prize at the base of the shaft.  He flicked his wet tongue across the man's nearly purple hood.

          Martin moaned, reaching out to hold on tightly to Danny's head and thrusting his hips up, urging Danny to take his raging cock.

          Danny swirled his tongue over Martin's bloated cock-head, bathing the hood in his hot saliva and then dragged his velvety-sandpaper tongue all the way up from the base of the shaft to the tip in one slow, superheated stroke.

          Martin started to tremble, warm waves of sexual pleasure washing over him.  "God, Danny, that feels good," he moaned, overwhelmed by the awesome sensation of that wet tongue on his aching cock.

          "It gets better," Taylor promised, momentarily halting his tongue-lashing to blow on Martin's quivering dick.  He ran his tongue along the length of the shaft one final time, then opened his mouth wide and swallowed the man's hood.

          "Fuck!" Martin gasped, squirming uncontrollably on the mattress as Danny popped his swollen cock-top in and out of his warm, wet mouth.

          Danny closed his lips over the top of Martin's hood and sucked, his tongue pressed firmly against the supersensitive spot where shaft becomes head.  Then he took a lungful of air in through his flared nostrils and lowered his head.

Fitzgerald's muscles tensed to the tearing point and his brain came close to snapping as Danny's lips inched their way down his cock, slowly, sensuously, surely until he had three quarters of his thick rod lodged in his mouth.  It was better than any dream had been…

          Martin shoved his hips upward and Danny's nose burrowed into his pubes.  For a moment he had the entire length of his cock buried in Danny's mouth and throat, and he was overcome with the incredible feeling of heat and tightness.

Then Danny turned the sexual tension up another few notches by pushing out his tongue and lapping at Martin's balls.

          "Oh shit!" he bellowed, twisting his head from side to side, reveling in the new sensation, the pressure on his tongue-teased balls rapidly building to the boiling–over point.

          But then Danny backed off a little, looking up just far enough to meet Martin's eyes.

Seeing Danny with his cock locked between his lips was too much for Martin and he lost it.  His cock exploded and he cried out, blasting white-hot semen straight down the man's throat.  He frantically pumped his hips, Danny's head bobbing up and down as he consumed load after load of Martin's spurting come.

Martin came for a blissful, sexual eternity.  And when his ruptured cock had sprayed for the final time, he slumped against the mattress and pillow with a whimper, exhausted and exhilarated, feeling the last tremors of the powerful orgasm slowly fading from his body.

Danny kept his spent cock imprisoned in his mouth for a good while longer, milking him of come.  But he finally lifted his head and Martin's dripping cock tumbled out of the man's mouth.

          Taylor smacked his lips with satisfaction, and crawled forward, kissing Martin and giving him a taste of his own seed.

"I want you," he whispered into Martin's ear a moment later.  "Let me take you…"

"God, Danny…" Martin gasped, his entire body jerking in reaction to that request.  "Yes…"

          They held each other, kissing, lips and tongues rekindling Martin's smoldering fire, their cocks rolling against each other.  Eventually, Danny broke the embrace, looking down at his erection.

          Martin wondered what it would feel like to have the long snake buried inside his ass.  There was only one way to find out.  He rolled over and lifted his hips.

          Danny paused, admiring the tight, round ass that was being offered up to him.  He reached down, rubbing his cock.

          "Drawer," Martin said.

          Danny leaned over and opened it, finding lube and condoms inside.  He smiled as he pulled them out.

          "Here it comes," he said, rolling the condom down his shaft.  He squeezed some lube out, slathering it over his covered shaft, and then rubbed some more onto Martin's hole before he probed a finger into the man's chute.

          "Yes!" Martin grunted, the finger in his ass transforming his cock from soft to semi-hard in a flash.

          Danny slowly twisted his finger back and forth as he moved it in and out at the same time.  He could feel Martin's muscles grabbing at him, so he pulled his finger out and slid two back into the tight chute, pumping them in and out while he slapped Martin's quivering ass cheeks with his slicked-up cock.

"Danny…" the man groaned.

Taylor pulled his fingers out and eased his cock-head in.

          Martin gurgled hungrily as the puffy hood pushed harder and harder against his sphincter, and gasped "Yes!" when it penetrated his pucker and popped inside him.  He reached back, spreading his ass cheeks, desperately inviting Danny to fill him.

          Danny gripped his cock and pressed forward; his dick sinking into Martin's tremulous ass like a spike into warm, wet earth.  More than halfway in, he let go of his cock and grabbed Martin's waist, thrusting his hips forward just as Martin thrust his ass backward.  Taylor dove deep into the tight chute, and kept going until he was buried to the balls in Martin's hot, stretched hole.

          "That feel okay" Danny asked him.

          "Feels so good," Martin hissed.  "Do it.  Take me…"

          Danny's fingers dug into Martin's flesh as he began to pump his hips, slowly at first so that his cock barely moved in Martin's packed-tight ass, then faster and faster.

Soon the Cuban was banging Martin's ass with reckless abandon, his balls smacking against the man's ass cheeks with loud claps.

          Martin reached under himself and gripped his cock, frantically fisting it as Danny jolted him again and again.

          "Yes!  Harder!" Martin demanded, sweat pouring off his face and soaking into the pillow, his hand flying up and down his jerking cock.

          Danny savagely hammered his ass, sending waves of pleasure rocking through Martin's body, and down his tingling cock.

          A moment later, Danny cried, "I'm coming!" and redoubled his efforts.  Then, he thrust his cock all the way up Martin's ass and let out a roar of triumph, blasting come into the tip of the condom and filling it.  His body jerked with each and every spout of semen, his fingernails clawing at Martin's sweat-sheened flesh as he came and came and came – and as Martin came as well, wetting the sheet beneath him.

          Danny couldn't believe it.  Martin was tighter and hotter than his dreams had ever been.  It was better, so much better than he had expected.

He finally collapsed on top of Martin, his cock wasted, his balls empty, and then he rolled over onto his back, pulling Fitz along with him.  He cradled Martin in his arms, his cock still securely lodged in the man's ass – right where it belonged.

          It was in the sanctity of this post-coital embrace that Martin smiled, basking in the soothing sensation of Danny's caressing hands on his chest, his nimble fingers rubbing and rolling his nipples, and knew that his dreams would never compare to the reality of what they were sharing right now.  He wanted this man.  He wanted him for the rest of his life, in every aspect of his life.  He was in love, and he finally understood why it was the inspiration for poets and fools.

          "You're mine, Martin," Danny said, hugging him tighter as his softening cock slipped out of the man's ass.

          "Yeah, I know," he replied.  "Just like you're mine."

          "Now and always, m'man."

          "That a promise?"

          "A fact."

          Martin chuckled softly, too overcome by the emotions coursing through his body to find words to tell Danny how he felt.  He knew the man already knew, and that he felt the same.  He could feel it in the way their body tingled with the same feelings, the same emotions, the same… love.

          God, if this was a dream, he knew he'd never be able to wake up.

          "Me either," Danny said, somehow reading his mind.

          Martin smiled and gave him self over to the ride, reaching up to hold on tightly to Danny's arms.  "I want you," he told the man.

          "Come and get it," was the soft reply as Danny began to nibble on his ear lobe, making him squirm.

 

 

The End… for now!

  


* * *

[1]  Fogcutters:  ½ oz. brandy, ½ oz. rum, ½ oz. gin, 3 oz. pineapple juice, and 1 oz. sour mix.  1) Fill mixing glass with ice, 2) add brandy, rum, gin, juice and sour mix, 3) shake, 4) strain into a Collins glass filled with ice, 5) garnish with lemon twist.


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